Little Do You Know
by Kitiara-chaa
Summary: Life was swell after they managed to save Peculiardom from certain disaster, and when the peculiar children had enough of the modern-day American life. They retired to their own home on the heavily forested area in Scotland, happy to live there until the day comes when they could immerse with normal life, when Miss Peregrine falls ill. How would they help her? And can Imogen help?
1. Chapter 1

There had always been whispers, rumors that surrounded the young girl of eleven, and her silence did not help her image much. Imogen De Vere, youngest daughter of the sixth Earl of Crowerley, an outcast even among her other three siblings. She spoke little, to a point that her elder sister Charlotte said during her debut ball, that she's 'Never heard the weird changeling speak at all'. Her sibling's ostracization of her only made Imogen seen as a greater oddity within London's haute ton. She cared naught for dresses or frills, nor dolls or fabric.

Imogen only drew.

Nothing made her happier than canvas, paints, and a bright room for her to mix colors, dab and paint, and create life on a blank space. And it was only when she drew, that the smile she wore drew a soft spot on her father's heart.

For as she grew up, Thomas De Vere knew why his daughter did not fit in. He heard stories on the lap of his old Great Grandma Chastity, who was said to have lived through many, many years. She had been a hundred and two when he was five, regaling him with stories of floating girls, a boy who controlled bee's, a girl who lit fire, people she called peculiars. She spoke of them fondly too, and he believed them. He tried to tell the story to his wife Gillian when he realized Imogen's oddity, but the prim, proper Countess of Crowerley would hear nothing of it. She merely tried to regale her daughter to speak, paraded her in front of morning callers like she was a doll.

For she did look like a doll. Dark hair, almost as black as midnight, with green eyes shining like embedded emeralds. Her face was not scary, merely enchantingly quiet, like her mind held the secrets of the world too big to tell.

To be fair, Imogen didn't want to remain quiet. She had so much to tell them, but the one time she tried with her sister Charlotte, the elder girl had screamed and called her a witch. How was she to know Charlotte didn't fancy fairies? She thought she did, but when she tried to give fairies to Charlotte, all her sister did was scream and run out of the playroom. Did she not draw them well enough? It was only after she had brought them to life before she realized their wings were a litte crooked... but she could fix that!

After that incident when she was six, Imogen had clammed up, and the following year, her father took her under his wing. He encouraged her the very first time he noticed her ability, when she had been hungry and drew herself a honey cake to nibble on before continuing to work on her drawing of a vase. The young girl had a very special bond with the Earl, and it was only with him that Imogen returned to the happy child he remembered her to be before her abilities manifested. But from what he remembered of Great Grandmother Chastity's stories, she wasn't safe. But he remembered that Grandma Chastity had a protector? Someone who watched over Chastity as a young girl until she could wield some control over her ability to hear thoughts. It was also probably why Thomas could never lie to his Great Grandmother.

It took a while before the Earl finally remembered her name, a Miss Avocet that had cared for the younger Chastity. But all the runners and private investigators the Earl sent could not even find a trace of such a human, or her remaining family around. As Imogen grew closer to her twelfth birthday and grew increasingly subdued, too afraid of being judged or laughed at by just socializing, Thomas too, grew increasingly worried.

Until the midnight before her birthday, as the Earl and Countess were in a deep slumber, his butler woke him blearily. Thomas wondered for a moment why would his butler be fully dressed at the god forsaken hour of three in the morning, before the notification of a very oddly dressed lady who had come calling had Thomas De Vere jumping out of his bed. Leaving his wife in bed, the man tied his night robe on before striding quickly into his second sitting room, part worried and part curious as he entered to see a black cap covering a small figure, black frilled dress outdated even for his standards, and a face with glasses perched on it as the female turned to look at him, before she stood up and walked towards Thomas with a smile and a limp. "Pleasure to meet you, My Lord. I do apologize for the odd hour, but it was needed so little else could see why I came here for."

"Which is...?" he trailed off, question clear in his face as he extended a wary hand into the lady's firm grip, exchanging a handshake before both allowed their arms to drop. "I think you know. I only came because I heard of the queries you've been sending out for me. I'm Miss Avocet, and I think I would greatly like to meet your Imogen."


	2. Chapter 2

The day was bright, sunny, happy, warm, like every other day the peculiar children had always woke up to. The best thing about living in a loop was that they always knew what weather they were getting, because it was always September 3rd, in the year 1940. In a way, most of Miss Peregrine's wards were happy that they didn't have to live in a loop where the weather was cold and dreary, for their only way of escape was out of the house. The walls of their home was cosy and comforting, yet at the same time confining and almost imprisoning at times. Perhaps it was why this time, the sunny weather was more of a faint nostalgia of their days where everything used to be exactly the same.

It was a great changed compared to their rainy, dreary weather the day before anyway. Millard almost wanted to drive himself mad as the children bemoaned their captivity indoors. For peculiar children who were used to spending their days outside, the television or any form of device did not hold as much fascination for them as did roaming.

Millard amused himself by watching them play, relishing in the sunlight as he picked at the cotton shirt he wore, occasionally looking up from the scrawl of his notes on his notebook. It was his fifteenth notebook, and his fifth leather journal over the past four years of his study of the New World, as he liked to call it. This particular one had been with him for close to three years now, for Miss Peregrine had just decided to give him a thicker one when he began to go through them like clothes. Penning down his observations from the day with the sounds of his housemates playing in the sunset, a sudden loud shout from Olive made Millard look up in surprise as the floating girl pointed to the distance. "Miss Peregrine's back!"

Almost as if they were one entity, all the peculiar children dropped their playthings, even Enoch with his little soldiers, as they all ran to greet their protector and mother-figure. Taking up the rear, Millard watched with a smile as Bronwyn ensured that Olive was securely fastened to her weighted shoes, picking up Claire to join their troop, as Emma dragged Jacob by his hand.

Life had returned to normal after they had solved the problem with Miss Peregrine's brothers, and collapsed the loop. They had returned to their normal ages, and had lived out a stint in modern day America. They had been glad to be out of the Devil's Acre where they had to live since their old loop had closed. Miss Peregrine shuttled back and forth between her new position as head of the Council of Ymbryne's, as Jacob had showed his friends his daily life.

The kids who had stayed so long within 1940 were fascinated by the modern life. Enoch had been a little bit miffed to find out he was no longer the only one who could animate dead things (Frankenstein had been a fairytale to him, while Claire had ran out of the room halfway), and Hugh and Fiona were fascinated by the amount of parks they could visit, taking plenty of dates. Miss Peregrine had made it her first mission to confirm Fiona's state after they had put the world of Peculiar's to some form of order, and the bunch of them, Hugh at the top of the list, had been more than overjoyed to find Fiona taking refuge in a forest under the menagerie loop Miss Wren managed. She had suffered a bad fall, and had suffered for a few days with a broken leg and bad cuts, but the trees had protected her as Hugh had hoped and prayed, and within a few months, Fiona was back with them.

But a year or two into them staying there, and the peculiar children had come to miss their old home. Not to say there was a need to set up a loop any longer, and in all truth of the word, this was no loop. The children simply continued staying with their Miss Peregrine, in a home now simply known as The Fledgeling House. Like an orphanage, Millard often mused, but one that children came only if Miss Peregrine herself brought them. The children, now that they've had a chance to age normally, had no wish to return to a loop now that hollowgasts and wights were no longer a threat to them.

Jacob had came with them to as they set up in the furthest end of Scotland, where the peculiar children could hone their abilities as Miss Peregrine privately tutored them both in academics and in life until the day came when they could enter society, perhaps even attend tertiary education and immerse themselves with the normals.

Jacob's parents had tried to accept the oddities of their son and friends, but eventually Franklin saw how stressed Maryann was each time she entered the kitchen to see Emma cooking with her palms, or Enoch making clay soldiers fight in the library, that both parents didn't put up much of a fight when Jacob announced he was going to stay with his friends. As long as he promised to visit often, they were not as devastated to let their son go.

Pulling himself away from nostalgia as he watched Miss Peregrine greet her children fondly, Millard did a double look when he realized what she had returned with. Or more particularly, who.

"Is this why you had went away for a few days, Miss Peregrine?" came Claire's innocently curious question. The girl had grew to be more slender and stately now, her thirteenth birthday just around the corner, but Claire was still more innocent then half the teenagers around her, considering she spent such a long time as an eight year old. Their matronly old ymbryne gave a nod, and gestured to the elder girl standing next to her. Millard's eyes immediately fell to the dark head, the wary, shy looking green eyes. Her anxious feelings were clear to see, from the way her gaze darted to how she gripped the burlap satchel in her arms, the oddly shaped package immediately igniting Millard's raging curiosity. "What's your name, little one?" Bronwyn was the first to step forward with a gentle smile, one that hadn't changed even if the large girl was now at the ripe age of eighteen.

"Her name is Imogen, Miss Bruntley." Miss Peregrine cut in before the girl could even reply (which she didn't seem fond of doing anyway, as she had shrunk away when Bronwyn addressed her). "Now children, is dinner ready? Let's give Miss De Vere some time to settle down before you ask her anything, shall we? I'm sure you wouldn't like it if I interrogated you the first day you came here."

A chorus of agreements came, before the motley crew happily ran back to the house, each to take up their dinner duty or to clean up before a mealtime, with Miss Peregrine following with a more stately, and slower pace. The newcomer followed behind her, more shy then anything, but Millard's eyes followed her steps, and then gave a start that he hoped no one else saw (not a very difficult wish, really), when the girl looked up. For a second, Millard couldn't help but wonder if she actually saw him.

The chaos that accompanied dinner preparations was a daily affair for the peculiar children in the Home, a ragtag occurrence that they had missed for the two years they spent in Jacob's home. Now, Claire and Olive laughed as they argued over who was in charge of washing dishes, and Bronwyn whistled as she roasted the meat over their spit. Even Enoch was quiet whilst he laid the table out, which was a great change as compared to his usual muttered complaints. When Emma rang the dinner bell, the rickety steps of their house sounded like thunder as everyone took their spot around the table.

It was at this time, that Imogen held back at the end of the steps towards the dining hall, uncertainty clear in those emerald gazes as she looked around, wondering where she belonged.

But there was one unseen person who Imogen didn't realized hadn't taken his seat yet, and only when he banged into her back, did the girl noticed albeit with a little more surprise then necessary, as Imogen would have fallen if what felt like hands hadn't caught her around her waist just as her arms flailed. "Whoah, careful there. Sorry, looks like I need to wear a little more than just pants, since people usually look up." The voice had a laughing lilt to it, as if the owner of the voice had a smile in his face, but Imogen blinked in surprise as she looked down where she felt arms, only to see nothing except a pair of seemingly floating pants.

"Mr. Nullings, clothes. Proper, clothes." Miss Peregrine's stern voice reprimanded, and the invisible hands straightened Imogen up before an embarrassed laugh came, and Imogen could almost imagine him rubbing his head in sheepish embarrassment as he replied "Yes, Miss Peregrine, and a clatter of steps upwards signalled his departure. Imogen only stared, blinking open mouthed in surprise, until the motherly ymbryne came to guide her by her shoulders. She had spent years in Miss Avocet's care, but even her wards were not as surprising as the motley crew in her new home, especially since Miss Avocet mostly dealt with training ymbryne's and shapeshifters.

"Children, this is Imogen De Vere, formerly under Miss Avocet's care. She'll live with us now, as Miss Avocet thinks she'll be better off here."

"Why?" a voice that seemed to come from Hugh and Fiona's direction piqued up.

"Miss De Vere was rescued from the Regency era by Miss Avocet when she was twelve. She was taken by Caul and Myron during the Great Kidnapping, but she managed to hide herself away until everything was over, and Miss Avocet found her again. Right now however, Miss Avocet is unable to properly care for the rest of her wards as she is seeing to the safety of Peculiardom, and as such each ymbryne has been entrusted with one or two of her wards. Miss Avocet finds that Miss De Vere would suit us."

"How did she escape?" Horace asked, utterly enchanted by the fact that someone actually managed to save themselves, considering it took eight of them and they could barely make it.

"That is a story that Miss De Vere would tell us in due time, Mister Somnusson. Now let's eat!" With Miss Peregrine's proclamation, the clatter of utensils against porcelain plates echoed through the cozy dining hall. Imogen herself picked at the meats laid for all to share at the center of the table, as if unsure of what to do with herself. In a foreign place, with people she wasn't familiar with, suddenly made Imogen ached as she missed the element controlling twins back at home, her best friend Gemma Wardlake, all of whom were either dead or soulless.

"Hey, our food's good! Bronwyn outdoes herself every time, and I think she made pudding specially for you. She always does when we have a newcomer, don't offend her by picking at your food."

The sudden voice next to her made Imogen startle again (Millard couldn't help but compare her to a frightened bunny, skittish and easily startled), before she realized that the floating pair of pants earlier was now accompanied with a red knitted pullover and a cap. Between the collar and the cap was enough empty space for just one face, and as Imogen continued watching, the fork and knife floated up as if someone was holding, before the utensils picked up a leg of a duck, and the leg made its way to her plate.

"Eat up."

Imogen blinked, trying to make sense of the whole thing. In Miss Avocet house, ymbryne's in training were largely in residence. Gemma with her ability to control liquid, the elemental twins Lillian and Lancelot, herself, Brynno who could control weather and Taketa who had perfect memory, were the only long standing wards of Miss Avocet. In this new house, everything felt foreign. And she sure as heck have never met an invisible person before.

"Gee, for a peculiar, you sure are snobbish."

Another voice made Imogen look up, just in time to see a blonde haired, angry looking girl scowling at her, almost making her uncomfortable before the boy next to her lay a hand on the girl's arms and shook his head, before offering Imogen a kind smile. "Don't mind Emma, she's just very protective and you're making Millard uncomfortable. My name's Jacob, I could see hollowgasts and sense wights during the Great Kidnapping."

Imogen gave a gasp, for almost all peculiar children have heard of the great Portman grandchild who inherited Abraham's ability. Hugh next to him laughed and swatted Jacob's head, earning him a dirty glare from Emma as a bee shot out from Hugh to buzz around their food. "Someone's got to keep him in line, Ems, and it can't be you since you inflate his head everyday."

"But what Jacob did was amazing! An-"

"Yes, yes we get it he is the stupendous Jacob Portman." Hugh good-naturedly grinned, at which Jacob grinned back before turning to Imogen again. "That's Hugh, the bee is his. He has a whole hive in his stomach." Hugh grinned and patted his stomach, and Jacob turned to the girl. "This is Emma, she's the ringleader, and a firestarter." Emma scowled into her food, much to Imogen's surprise. "Don't worry about her, she's a tough nut to crack." A surprising whisper shocked Imogen again, and she almost overturned her plate before a laugh exploded from the floating clothes, and Jacob's explanation followed suit.

"That's Millard, he's invisible."

"All the time?" For the first time, Imogen surprised them with a voice of surprise, a tone so soft Millard almost thought it was air, before he registered the girl's moving lips. It took awhile before it sunk in that Imogen was actually addressing him, and for the first time Millard thank the stars that he was invisible, so they couldn't see his flush as replied. "Oh, yes, all the time. There's no switch I can use, sadly."

"Are you really there? Or is it just some ventriloquist?"

"What's a ventriloquist?" Claire asked down the table, to which Bronwyn quickly explained, as Imogen blinked, as if expecting an answer. And unable to think of any other way to prove his existence, he said "Hold out your hand."

Surprisingly, the girl did so, and with a little apprehension, Millard took his hand and placed her palm against hers, again happy that he was invisible for his cheeks were very warm as he noticed how small her palms were, registering at the same time, how her cheeks too flushed when she realized the pressure pressing against her was his hand. "Oh, you're really there."

"What would we get out of lying to you?" Emma questioned brashly.

"I… I just haven't had the chance to meet many other peculiars. Miss Avocet kept a tight rein on us."

"Miss Peregrine does to us too. We're just too wild." Hugh replied, waggling his brows in a bedeviling way that had Imogen smile her first smile since she arrived. Millard found himself irritated, wishing he had done that...but how could he make her smile when she couldn't even see him?

"What about you? Maybe if you prove your peculiarity, it might put Miss Bloom's agitated apprehension to rest." Horace piped up. Imogen suddenly found herself the center of attention, and immediately she felt very put on the spot, obvious when she paused midbite of her chicken. "Leave her alone guys, she'll let us know when she's more comfortable with it." Millard irritably piped up.

"Mister Nullings is right, children. Let's no-" Miss Peregrine was about to come to her defense, when Imogen shook her head, her shoulder length dark hair waving as she did so. "It's alright Miss Peregrine. They have a right to know. I'll show them."

In saying so, the girl pulled from her pocket a white chalk, and pushed her plate away so she had an empty space in front of her, the wooden table like an empty board. On it, she looked up, and smiled when she saw Olive intently looking as she chewed on her carrot. "What would you fancy for a present…?"

"My name's Olive! And Christmas is pretty far away, but if Santa could make me a princess, that would be the best!"

A chorus of laughs rippled, obvious to all that despite being eleven now, Olive was still very much the baby of their motley crew. Even Imogen laughed, a laugh that had Millard staring for it made her eyes sparkle like gems. Almost entranced, Millard couldn't pull his eyes away as Imogen addressed Olive. "I'm not Santa, and I can't make you a princess, but I can give you something close. Watch."

Holding her chalk, Imogen began drawing on the oaken table, sketching out a tiara that was pretty yet not overly grand, fitting in gems and diamonds here and there, before she extended a hand to Olive, who took the hand. "Now, imagine really hard, how you want the tiara's color to be, plus all the gems around it, alright?"

Olive gave an earnest nod, and squeezed her eyes shut in concentration. Whereas Imogen began tracing the outline of the tiara she had drawn. Once she reached the end, she waved a hand across, and a flurry of gasps appeared when she opened her palms, and a tiara sat on her palms as if she had pulled it out of thin air. It looked exactly like what she had drawn, and the sketch on the table had disappeared.

Olive squealed as Imogen passed the tiara to her, and she had Claire immediately dissolved together to take turns playing, whilst the dark haired newcomer turned to give further explanation. "Anything I draw, I can make come true. It's like my touch gives corporeal bodies to things. It's feel, texture and taste however, is only as good as I can remember. If it's in color, then I don't need someone else's help. If I draw in black and white, then it'd be best if someone else's imagination lends power to my projections. The younger, the better, for they believe in their imaginations more."

Millard blinked, absolutely taken away. Her peculiarity seemed more magical then anything, and he knew wasn't the only one who felt this way, the way everyone blinked in surprise at her. It took less then a second for Imogen to begin feeling self conscious again, and Miss Peregrine picked up on that in a second, quickly hurrying them to clean up after themselves and get to bed.

"Mister Nullings, would you please show Miss De Vere to her room? She'll be in the new room up in the attic, as the girls are all sharing as it is."

"Sure do, Miss Peregrine! Follow me, Imogen." His chirpy voice had Imogen surprised, following as the floating clothes made their way out of the kitchen and wash area, and up the stairs. "I usually don't help out with kitchen duties, because it's already a small area and them being unable to see me makes things a little more difficult for them."

"Oh."

"Emma shares a room with Fiona, and Bronwyn bunks with Claire and Olive, although I think the two of the babies are going to demand they get their own room soon. They are getting older, but we're all not so used to aging yet… and are you usually so quiet?" Millard finally couldn't help but ask, as they reached the first landing, and the laughter and chatter of the others were muted. Imogen flushed, and bit her lip. "N-not really. I just… it's been a long day."

"I get you." He paused at the top of the second landing, and peered to look at her. "Look, it's alright here. Miss Peregrine is the best, and we're all doing our best to make her proud. Jacob's studying to work in the special unit, and so is Emma. Hugh plans to open a huge honey farm, so he's aiming for business and law, and Horace wants to be a dream interpreter. Life is good after we got rid of them hollowgasts and wights." He paused, somehow not liking the somewhat shy and afraid look Imogen looked as if she constantly wore. "Don't be afraid anymore."

"It's not that I'm afraid of." Imogen replied, albeit a little hesitantly. Millard paused, cocking his head in confusion despite knowing that the other girl couldn't see. "Then what is it?" Silence fell for abit, before Imogen shook her head. "It's nothing. Thanks for bringing me to my room Millard. I… I'll need some time to settle in. See you."

And with that, the girl darted into her room and closed the door with a final click, leaving Millard blank and confused. The girl wasn't scared of wights and hollowgasts? Then what was she afraid of?


	3. Chapter 3

When Imogen woke up the next morning, her head felt heavy as her eyes groggily opened to realize that she had forgotten to draw the blinds to her attic room. It was barren, save for the two beds shoved towards the slanting end of the roof. Her bag stayed unpacked, simply ransacked at the foot of her bed. The only thing Imogen had properly placed out was her canvas propped on its stand, and a table next to it for her paints, brushes, charcoal and colors. She had intentionally placed her block and easel where the sun shone directly upon it, and as the morning light streamed in the open window,the girl gave a feeble smile to see the spot she had chosen had enough sunlight.

Drawing gave her an escape she never found from anywhere else, and she usually started and ended her day with it back at Miss Avocet's house, where there was little else she could do. The ymbryne's in training did the menial tasks as part of their lessons, so the few ward's Miss Avocet kept was simply because she couldn't bear to part with them.

Yet now, Imogen found herself alone, away from friend's she's literally grew up with. But perhaps what was most foreign to her, was to hear laughter of children as they clatter around downstairs. Was this why Miss Avocet sent her here? So she could now grow up among those of her age?

"Miss De Vere, we're all waiting for you for breakfast!" Miss Peregrine's voice floated up, and in that instance, Imogen jumped out of her bed, her inborn nature to dislike keeping people waiting. Splashing water to her face and deftly running her fingers throw her dark hair, Imogen threw on her dress (she never got used to the twentieth century fashion of pants), and hurried down the staircase to where her new housemates sat as they did at dinner the night before, except this time plates of steaming oats, sausages, baked beans and eggs sat arrayed on the table. "You'll be joining us for lessons before noon, Miss De Vere. And then after lunch, it's usually time for the children to play."

"What lessons?" Imogen asked as they all begin to tuck in, and in between bites of food, the peculiar children took turns answering her. "It depends on what Miss Peregrine wants to teach us for the day, really. Mostly, she works on deportment, language and manners." Hugh started, shovelling his eggs down at an alarming manner, even despite Fiona's wide eyed stare at him. Jacob laughed and swallowed his sausages before continuing "She will teach us math on Wednesdays and Fridays, and she takes turns with sciences on Tuesdays. Language she leaves to Horace, and history she lets Millard deal with. They discuss it between them to take turns every Monday."

"And today is...?"

"It's Thursday, which also means we've got to practice our writing and French, and she dabbles a little into Polish before we go for lunch." Millard finish up, and Imogen could almost hear a grin in his voice as he popped his last bit of french toast in his mouth. The girl watched, fascinated as the piece of bread disappeared as if in thin air, and couldn't help but giggle, amused by the way the neckcloth he wore bobbed with his chewing. "What's so funny?"

Imogen blushed when Hugh asked, as if embarrassed that she got caught. "I think she's still getting used to Millard being invisible. Millard, would you please put on some clothes?" Emma admonished, and it was only then that Imogen noticed she had been seated next to only a floating neckcloth. The idea that a naked teen sat next to her had a more serious flush flooding Imogen's cheeks, to which Emma scowled at the space that was supposed to be Millard. "Miss Peregrine, Milla-"

"Go and dress, Mister Nullings. We have a guest!"

"Tattle." Millard hissed at Emma, and whined "But Miss Peregrine, Imogen technically isn't a guest is she?"

"It is impolite to be undressed in front of ladies, no matter guest or not. Have some decency Mister Nullings!"

Imogen heard a huff, before his chair scraped backwards and she heard more then saw Millard stalk upstairs, much to Miss Peregrine's satisfaction and the other children's partial amusement. "Millard likes to balk against Miss Peregrine sometimes." Jacob mused, as he caught Imogen's curious look. "Why?" she asked in return.

"Well, we all have our ambitions. And even with our peculiarities, it's not difficult. Even Olive said she'd like to help with architecture in the future. But Millard... it's harder for him."

"He'll make a splendid teacher." Horace picked up, glancing at where Millard had went up, and back at Imogen. "We all enjoy his History lessons, even Enoch, even if he won't admit it." The immaculately dressed fifteen year old jerked his head at a sullen looking thirteen year old Enoch, who scowled and picked up his plate to wash. "But problem is, it'd be difficult for regular society to accept a teacher you can't see, isn't it?"

At that, Imogen suddenly felt like she understood, yet couldn't fully grasp the problem Millard faced. She knew what it felt like to be ostracized by your own family, but at the very least she had her father with her. Millard wasn't ostracized, and in fact she got the feeling that he was very at home both with his housemates, and with his peculiarity... but how could he ever make it out there?

The children squealed as lessons were over, dashing out of their rooms to quickly shovel lunch down their throats before taking themselves outside to enjoy the rest of the day. Imogen followed at a more stately pace, a little fascinated still at the lessons she just had. Lessons at Miss Avocet were largely for training ymbryne's, so not only did she struggle to write, she stumbled over French as well. She had had half a mind to give up, growing increasingly frustrated with nouns and synonyms of the French language, when a surprising invisible ally had plonked himself next to her, and in a few minutes those foreign words began to make sense.

It was then, that Imogen saw the full truth in Horace's words, that Millard would indeed make a wonderful teacher. He made things simple, chunked information down, and was patient beyond words.

As she stepped out in the garden and the others fell into prearranged games, Imogen found her eyes drifting over to where a floating notebook was open under a tree, and the girl subconsciously started towards the invisible boy, speaking up as she drew nearer. "Mind if I take a seat?"

"Oh, sure. Are you sure you don't want to join them though? I think Emma wants to plan for a 'Raid the Village' game tomorrow, upgraded version of course."

"What do you mean by upgraded?"

"Well, we used to play Raid the Village because the village won't remember how we raided them once the loop rest, but since we're no longer in a loop we can't technically do that."

"You guys raided people?" Imogen asked in horror, and it must have showed on her face because she heard Millard chuckle, closing his notebook before she assumed he looked at her. "What did you guys use to play in Miss Avocet's place then?"

"Well..." she paused, thinking as she shifted against the tree trunk they both leaned on. "Sometimes the twins would manipulate the weather for us to wind surf, or Brynno would entertain the younger ones by juggling us around, otherwise we played regular games. Miss Avocet never let us out of the loop, because she had too many ymbryne's in training to care for."

"True enough. You'll enjoy the game though. We've been playing it for years, so we didn't want to let it go."

"I think years is an understatement, isn't it?" she laughed, and Millard joined in her laughter, speaking after abit. "True. But considering I'm only twenty, it doesn't feel that long ago. I guess that's what the loop does to us?" he paused, and asked as if curiosity got the better of him. "What about you? How long were you in the loop?"

"I'm... I think I'm about eighteen now. I was born in the 1800's, and considering it's... what, 2016 now? I lost count after two hundred." she laughed, stretching her legs out in front of her. The balmy Highland wind that breezed across the garden area of their house was soothing, and especially with a full belly, for the first time, Imogen felt a sense of relaxation come across her.

"Whoah, you're old."

"Hey, watch it. Technically, I'm still younger then you are, because of the loop." Millard laughed at the aghast face that Imogen made, yet couldn't help the warmth he felt when he saw the smile she wore. Could he make her smile wore? Her laughter was electric, which made him wonder why did she look so terrified the first day she came here. He asked her despite knowing he may clam up, and instantly regretted it when he saw her smile dissapear instantly.

"I'm sorry, you do-"

"No, I know it's just curiousity. I... The time when I was born, image was a very important thing. I was... peculiar, for lack of a better word. So of course, no one accepted me for who I am. My own mother and siblings ostracized me. Only my father understood me, and he was the one who seeked far and wide for Miss Avocet so he could put me under her care."

"But how did he know?"

"From what Miss Avocet told me, apparently my Great Grandmother was a syndrigast too, but she was under the care of a Miss Falcon. Great Grandmother Chastity told stories to Father, who naturally understood when he saw me drawing a honey cake and then eating it."

"You what?" Millard muffled a laugh despite himself, but was relieved when she smiled at his reaction. "I was hungry, I was five, it was past midnight and I had a canvas. I knew what I could do, why not?"

"Well, if I said I'd like to eat a corndog now, could you do that?"

"With ease!" she piped up happily, snatching his notebook and pencil from him. Within minutes, Imogen had sketched a picture of a delicious looking corndog, and traced the picture as she did the night before, before pulling out a piping hot corndog. Millard whooped in delight, attracting the attention of their friends, who squealed when they realized the extent of what Imogen's peculiarity gave them.

"I want soda!"

"Teriyaki chicken wings!"

"Sushi!" Claire squealed loudly. Apparently the vast variety available in the 21st century had given the syndrigasti children an exotic palette. She tried her best to accommodate to all of their requests, which eventually ended up with them all having a picnic in the garden. The kids sprawled across the lawn, snacking and munching on the most outrageous things. It wasn't till Imogen was pulling out the fifth chocolate cake Enoch had requested, when Millard noticed her paling despite the harsh sunset light, and realized as he glanced across their buffet spread, just how long she had been using her powers.

She swayed a little where she sat, and Millard reacted quickly, catching her from the small of her back and thanked little blessings again, that he was invisible. See, his peculiarity was great when used properly!

Imogen startled again, albeit weakly this time, which made Millard smile as he held her shoulder and shifted so she could lean against his side. "You're easily scared aren't you?" he asked, giving her a smile she couldn't see. Imogen scowled, almost hiding the weariness in her green eyes. "You try getting shocked by someone invisible."

Millard laughed, but took his notebook from her and closed it. "That's enough for the day. You've ruined dinner, and Miss Peregrine would probably rant all night. And you're going to make us twice the size we are within a fortnight. Rest."

"But the kids wanted dessert?"

"They'll get pudding later. Wyn probably made us some already. Rest, little bunny" It didn't take much prodding, for the moment Millard pulled her to rest her head on his shoulders, she was out like a light despite a whispered questioned of "Bunny?", her energy sapped by the amount of strength she's had to use to conjure up all their whims and fancies.

But while Millard may be invisible, his donned shorts and shirt meant all could see him. Luckily for him, not many noticed except for his closest friends, and Emma smirked as Horace nudged at Millard. "Watch it, she's only been here for two days and you're half gone. I'm betting a month before you're well and truly sodded."

"A month? I give it 2 weeks." Emma grinned like a scamp, and even Jacob laughed as he nodded. "You're too generous Emma, a week tops." Hugh added, laughing when Millard made no reply. He flushed, hidden from his invisibility and chose instead to retort hotly. "I would've done the same for any of you!"

"I never saw you picking me up when I was hurt."

"That's cause Jacob would've quartered me."

"You've gotta admit, that's true." Enoch responded dryly, and Emma scowled whilst Jacob blushed, and everyone else laughed. The easy air was what they had missed the most throughout the whole time they had been on the run from hollowgasts and wights. Revelling in the camaraderie and easygoing aura, Millard leaned back as they dropped the subject and continued arguing over last morsels and what to prepare for pudding (for none of them could fit dinner in any longer). His eyes roamed his friends, before they finally fell upon the dark head slumbering on his shoulder, and for once, Millard smiled to himself, feeling a warm feeling encase his chest. Life was good. Well and good.


	4. Chapter 4

Life was not good.

They had trudged in after six that evening, and expectedly took Miss Peregrine's scolding for them with bowed heads. Imogen had been banished to kitchen scrubbing duty for two weeks for ruining dinner, and Miss Peregrine had banned us all from having pudding that night, and instead of letting us have our usual winding down session around the fireplace in the common room, had sent all of us to memorize lines for Shakespeare.

But that wasn't the worst of it all.

The bad news came when they were all woken up by Bronwyn the next morning. The moment Millard opened his eyes and saw the sun well in the sky, he knew that something was off. Their headmistress was usually up by the crack of dawn, and Bronwyn followed soon after to help in preparing the morning meal, and scrubbing the schoolroom for the day's lessons. But the sun being high in the sky meant that it was probably well past mid-morning. Their lessons usually started by 9AM, and with that information popping in his head, Millard jumped out of bed and ran out of his room, as other footsteps running echoed on the floorboards as well.

Millard was knocked into and had to flatten himself against the wall before he realized he had forgotten to throw on any clothes (as he was wont to do, considering how he preferred wandering around without a stitch on anyway), and was almost getting barrelled over before the others realized Millard was around. "You really need to get into the habit of wearing clothes man." Jacob muttered, flinging his robe at Millard before they all gathered around Bronwyn's worried face, accentuated only by her wringing hands. "What's the matter, Wyn? And where's Miss Peregrine?" Olive immediately asked, holding on to Enoch's shoulders as she hovered just above the rest to be able to see.

"That's the thing, Miss Peregrine she- I woke up to help her and- The kitchen wasn't - No one was-"

"Bronwyn, settle down. Nothing will get done if you can't let us know what's going on. First thing first, where's Miss Peregrine?" Emma stepped in, taking the mantle of a leader as easily as it came to her, and chunked down what they needed to know for Bronwyn to be able to answer her. The heavyset girl of seemingly twenty two took a deep breathe, as if calming her frayed senses before speaking up. "Miss Peregrine is inside, but..."

"But?" a chorus of voices started, but Emma hushed them all before giving an encouraging look to Bronwyn again, for her to continue.

"She's... not saying anything, or doing anything or... anything."

"What? What could be the matter?" Jacob muttered, quite taken by surprise, blinking. But it was Imogen who spoke up next, her voice wavering a little with worry, sounding quite small amidst the cluster of peculiar children gathered on the main landing. "Is she warm? Does she breathe?"

Bronwyn nodded at the queries, but was seemingly left speechless for she knew nothing else to add. The peculiar children gave a collective sigh of relief, glad to know that their Miss Peregrine was still alive at the very least. But once that brief period of relief had passed, worried glances were now exchanged among them, as murmurs of 'maybes' and 'what ifs' began to be heard. "Millard, do you know what's going on? Horace?" Emma voiced out when she finally couldn't take all the uncertainty flying around. Horace shook his head, dissapointment clear in the subdued features. "I wish. If I did, you know I would've told everyone by yesterday."

"Millard?"

There was a period of silence, so much so that Claire actually went up to prod the jacket Jacob had tossed at Millard, only to be answered with a swat of his hand, before the invisible peculiar spoke up. "Can I see her?" Bronwyn nodded, jerking her head at the door they all stood crowding around. Emma pushed forward to join Millard, and Jacob brought up the rear as the door closed behind them, and whispers flared up once again, rumors flying as everyone seemed to come up with their own ideas.

"Is Miss Peregrine dying?"

"Hush little magpie, no one is dying. Miss Peregrine is mayhaps just very very tired."

"Is she old? Maybe that's why she's tired?"

"But Miss Peregrine should never get old! She's our ymbrynes! Ymbryne's don't get old do they?"

"Technically, our loop has been destroyed, and we're all aging normally now. Considering we just celebrated Hugh's seventeenth birthday last weekend, what's to say Miss Peregrine isn't frail and old now?"

"Is she sick?"

"I've never seen Miss Peregrine sick before though."

The moment the door opened to reveal the bobbing jacket plus Emma and Jacob, the rest of them quieted down again, as the three peculiars exchanged looks, before Emma addressed them. "Miss Peregrine is sick, we think."

"See, I told you!"

"But Miss Peregrine never get's sick!"

"That was because we were in the loop." Millard cut in, his voice obviously worried with the vibrate of tension in his words. "Now that we're no longer part of a loop, we're as susceptible to illnesses as normals. Miss Peregrine is more so, because she's a ymbryne. She's half a bird, so she contracts diseases harmful to both humans and avians."

"So how do we cure her? Do we bring her to a healer? They'd cure her with those yucky things they make us eat, don't they? Or can we ask Madam Dust?" Olive asked. Jacob shook his head, looking for all the world like he'd rather not be the person to break the news to the young floating peculiar.

"Not entirely. Madam Dust's remedy may not work, for this is an illness,not an injury. And because Miss Peregrine is a peculiar, a regular doctor just wouldn't work. They'd have to be someone who knows how to treat Miss Peregrine's unique genetic DNA."

"I know someone. Heard about him from the Gypsies during the time we were running away. Raid told me about him." Millard referred back to the friendly Gypsies who had helped them, and the friend they had promised to fetch into the loop with them. However, after they had collapsed the loops and ended up in the present year, no one was quite sure how to return to get them. "So where do we find him?" Bronwyn asked in excitement.

"We... don't know." Emma replied.

"But how could you not?"

"Radi told me that he travelled, a lot. He is a syndrigast himself, and he heals. But he hates being tied down to one place."

"That was in 1940, Millard. What makes any of you think he'd still be around?" Enoch snapped at them, putting despair back in their hearts. Emma would have none of it however, and glared at the young boy to back down before addressing the rest of her housemates again. "We'll find a way, somehow. We're going to need the Map of Days again, but we'll definitely help Miss Peregrine get better again."

As the murmur of worry and uncertainty started again, Imogen bit her lip, chewing on it a little before starting forward to reach for Emma. She tugged on the elder girl to get her attention, before speaking up. "I may be able to help."

Her words froze the cluster, and Emma asked in a softer tone, curiosity mingling with uncertainty. "How?"

"Miss Peregrine is still alive? And I would assume you guys remember the gypsy camp from your travels?"

The ones who were present gave a shudder, and Hugh wore a sad expression, but one by one they all nodded. "It might be dangerous, but... I can create a portal for us all to enter that time, so we can find the healer."

"But... That was the most dangerous time of the Great Kidnapping!"

"We could've gotten taken away by wights or hollowgasts at any time!"

"How ironic, that we're going in to save Miss Peregrine again. Must we always return to that time?"

"Not all of us." Imogen piped up. "Only a few, this time. I can't carry too many across. And this time, we'll all be better prepared, wouldn't we? And no one to save except for Miss Peregrine." Imogen paused, and looked at Emma, almost as if asking her to make the decision. And as usual, the natural leader of their crew nodded. "Jacob, Millard, Horace and Enoch, come with us. Hugh and Fiona, we're going to need you to defend our home whilst we're all gone. Bronwyn, please take care of Miss Peregrine and the little ones until we return."

Hugh, Fiona and Bronwyn each gave serious nods, and all of them knew that the other would give their life to keep each other, and their homes safe. But Imogen walked up to the heavier set, matronly girl taking her hand to give it a squeeze. "Protect Miss Peregrine, and protect the easel I'll draw on. It'll be our only way home."

Within the hour, the rest of them have packed everything they hope they would need, as Imogen set up an easel right opposite the window of the sick Bird's bed. The Bird herself was pale, breath shallow with each gasp, and her pallor sickly. Imogen couldn't help the worry that surfaced each time she took a look at her new protector, already quite attached as she was wont to do. How could a day so perfect as yesterday, started off like this today?

Claire's eyes were red as she entered, and Olive looked like she was about to begin at any time. "I can't believe we made her so upset yesterday. And now she's... she's..." Claire pouted, as if she was on the verge of tears again, asking in a wobbly voice "Is it our fault she's this way?"

"Hush little one, it isn't our fault in any way."

"If it's anyone's, it's mine. She headed out to fetch me from Miss Avocet, and she probably caught something on our way back." Imogen announced with what sounded like pain of guilt in her voice. Immediately, clamors of voices denied that statement, but it was Millard's hand that reached for hers, murmuring in her ears "It isn't yours, and I'll hound your nightmares if you ever say that again."

She gave her usual startle, and calmed down when she heard his familiar chortle. "Careful, rabbit. You'll give away that I'm here."

"Go and get dressed Millard Nullings, you're unbecoming." Emma scolded, drawing a laugh from Imogen as the huff of an irate Millard announced his presence, before the door opened, and slammed closed. "Why don't we ask the other ymbryne's?" suddenly, Olive asked hopefully, but Emma gave a woeful shake of her head. "We're no longer in a loop, Olive dear. So we don't have the advantage of time on our side. Plus, all the other ymbryne's are part birds as well, and have as large a chance of catching whatever it is Miss Peregrine has. I'd rather not have all of the ymbryne's falling ill."

"Don't worry, little Olive. I'll make sure they're all fine." Imogen tried to soothe, but by then her mind was focused on her easel. Picking up her wooden palette, the peculiar children watched for the first time, the true extent of Imogen's peculiarity. As she dipped her paintbrush into swirls of color, she glanced over at Miss Peregrine by her side, and then spoke as her brush touched the blank canvas. "Tell me of the time when you guys were with the gypsies, what happened before you met them, and what happened directly after you met them."

The rest standing behind her exchanged confused looks, but blinked, and did as she told. The face Imogen wore while she painted was at the same time one of concentration and yet relaxed simultaneously. She nodded as she listened, biting her lip occasionally as if unsure of which colour to use, before, after an hour or so, she finally stopped. On the canvas, was a iron gate that held caravans behind them, horses scattered as if they were about to flick their tails at any given second. Imogen stared at her masterpiece, blinked, before she lay her palette down and picked up the sleeping ymbryne's hand. "Miss Peregrine, I'm going to need your help for this one." Millard noted how gentle her voice was now, as if calling for help from an old, familiar friend, and Imogen began to trace her painting as she always did.

But instead of pulling something out, this time she waved her hand over and it glowed a bright light. The girl smiled as she turned to see them, and beckoned them over. "Grab your things, let's go." Reaching out, Imogen grabbed the satchel she had packed of her own utensils, and gave one last look over her shoulder at her friends to make sure they were reassured, and reached out to let the glow of the painting absorb her in its essence.

The sudden change of atmosphere, from quiet and solemn to loud, raucuous and noisy was surprising to the peculiars, as they stumbled into each other. It took awhile before the rest of them realized that they had ended up on the night of the festivities that were going on, just after they had visited Radi.

But before they could even register much of what was going on, Millard had to quickly rush forward to grab Imogen as he noticed her swaying. He supported her weight as she fell, and the rest of the peculiars swarmed, cautious only when Imogen mustered the rest of her strength to hush them, and motioned at them to back away. "S-sorry." she chattered, as if the cold was too much for her. Millard, worry evident had his features been visible, brought Imogen towards a shade of a nearby tree, where they quickly wrapped the sweater Bronwyn had insisted they bring, and Millard relinquished his hold to Emma, who ran her warm palms around the younger girl's arms. "I d-don't create p-por-portals very often. I'-ve o-only ever d-d-d-one so one o-other ti-time."

"Hush, don't worry small one." Emma soothed Imogen as best as she could, before unable to help but ask."Would we be changing history in any way?"

"No-not necessarily." Imogen pulled the sweater closer, her face paler than Millard was comfortable with. "As long as we don't meet yourselves in this present time, we're fine. But be careful." At that, Imogen turned to Millard (or the floating neckcloth, plaid shirt and pants that signified Millard's presence anyway), and asked "Do you know enough from what Radi told you the last time?" Millard stared for a minute, before denying it. "Go and seek him after you know your present self has left. We're lucky he can't see you, so he won't realize that you've aged."

"You make me sound old." Millard gently laughed, unable to help but brush his fingers across the knuckles of her hands. Imogen however, barely felt it, as her eyes fluttered closer. "We can't move anywhere tonight anyway, so get the information you need and we'll start tomorrow."

"You go to sleep, Imogen. We'll deal with the rest." Emma hushed, jerking her head for Millard to leave, as she heated up a rock nearby for them to huddle around. The firestarter never imagined to be back here, and the idea of what was going to happen next made her shudder. "Jacob, what if-"

"Don't." Imogen's voice, sharper than before made them all turn to her, where she managed a sharp glare, before her body seem to crumple into itself again. "Please, do... don't try and change history. Let things play out as they will, for if not you will find that you may change history, irreparable damage that may cause the loss of memory, change of personality, things that you cannot change any longer once we return."

"B-"

"Emma, don't argue." Jacob admonished, scowling at his partner as a warning and proceeded to kneel next to the young Imogen. "Don't worry young one. We'll wait till tomorrow morning to do anything."

Satisfied with the answer, Imogen drifted into an uneasy sleep, for she too was highly uneasy. The Great Kidnapping held as many bad memories for her as it did for them, for no peculiar nor ymbryne survived that with no scars. It was just dependent on where someone was stashed away during that time, and Imogen had no wish to revisit her demons.


	5. Chapter 5

As Imogen drifted into her slumber, Emma and Jacob wandered off to collect some wood so they could keep warm through the night. Enoch took out the few soldiers and clay puppet's he had in his shirt pocket, and Horace gave him an uneasy look as the boy began to animate his 'toys' to play fight. Horace couldn't help but give a groaned "Do you _have_ to Enoch?" And that was enough to set off another squabble that the two youngest boys seem to be getting into more and more often these days, much to many of their irritation. Often, Emma either had to step in, or they would throw the two of them out of the house to settle their argument outside and not have to subject the rest of them to their war of words.

This time though, there was no house to throw them out of, and as Imogen shifted uneasily in her sleep, Millard scowled, before he hissed at Emma from where she stood with Jacob, talking in low undertones. "Em, _do_ something or Imogen is going to wake from those two arguing."

Emma raised a brow, wanting to question why exactly was Millard so concerned about Imogen just to be contrary, but Jacob squeezed her hand tightly, giving her a warning look. Deciding to let it drop for now, the girl instead just looked up and shot a harmless fireball in between the two, making Enoch squeak and Horace jump far away, before both simultaneously tried to look for the source, and was met with Emma's glare. "Shut it, you two. Learn to behave, or you're both going back."

Immediately, Horace gave an indignant look, but not wanting to be sent back and eager to prove his capabilities, he merely muted himself despite his look of faulted indignance, and stalked off to a corner of the clearing they had settled in, Enoch glaring at his back the whole time.

"Why did you even bring them? We could've handled this ourselves." Jacob finally questioned, as Millard returned to his quiet lookout over a sleeping Imogen, and the hollowgast-senser bent down to help his partner in collecting some dry wood. Emma grinned, picking up a few sticks before straightening up to set back to their spot. "Enoch could prove useful if we need information from someone who is in no condition to tell us. And if Horace get's a bad dream about us, I'd really rather we be around to hear it. I know Hugh and Fiona would be a better bet, but I wasn't comfortable with leaving our home completely unprotected."

Jacob paused as he mulled over her logic, before finally shrugging and giving Emma a sheepish smile. "I have to say, you definitely are better at this leading thing then I am. I just fight."

"And you're the best fighter I've ever known." Emma replied loyally, laying the dried wood in a heap right in the middle of their clearing, and setting it on fire. "I know you've been feeling quite useless with us since the hollowgasts and wights were demolished, but you know you're going to have to knock into that Feeling of yours again, so long as we're here, right?"

It was only when Emma brought it up, that Jacob's eyes widened, blinking as the truth of her words sunk in. Considering Jacob's peculiarity was sensing wights and controlling hollowgasts, that there was none of them in their time meant he had to get over being disappointed over his peculiarity being rendered useless from then on. Miss Peregrine had comforted him saying his was a unique one that manifested and evolved as they needed it, but until this day Jacob was still waiting for a separate way his peculiarity would evolve to suit their needs.

But now that the chance for him to exercise that weakened muscle of his was a mixture of excitement and dread, palpable within him. Having spent years without even having a chance to practice controlling a hollowgast, Jacob wasn't too sure if he could pull it off. That Feeling though, was something he wasn't like to forget anytime soon, not after it always brought such destruction after it.

"Jacob? Love? Are you okay?"

Emma's voice snapped Jacob out of his reverie, and he blinked a few times before nodding to reassure her. "Y-yeah. No problem. I just… it's been awhile since I controlled hollowgasts, Em. Not sure if I have it in me anymore."

"All of us have it in us, Jacob." She smiled, the curl of her lips that he had first fell for, and didn't think he'd ever get tired of seeing. "Don't worry about controlling yet, I'm still hoping we don't have to get that far. Just be an alarm system for now."

Jacob laughed, and would've leaned in to kiss her had a loud cough not sounded from where Imogen had been sleeping. Caught by surprise, the twenty year old turned with a faint blush on his cheeks, only to find Imogen floating in mid-air, as if carried by… of course, Millard. "Uh… Don't mean to intrude, but past-Millard has just returned to the wagon we slept in, so I think I should go now. Imogen was sleeping, so I didn't think it was wise for me to just leave her at the tree."

"Of course not. Don't worry Millard, we'll be here when you return." Emma reassured, and her smile turned to a knowing one as she watched Millard slowly lower Imogen to the ground near the glowing embers, carefully tucking his rolled up sweater under her head. "You know Millard, it doesn't hurt to try-"

"Try nothing, Emma."

"Why not?"

"She can't see me. Nothing can come out of it." His voice held such a wealth of despair, dead-ends and hopelessness that Emma seem to subconsciously reach out from him. But it was Jacob who spoke up, addressing Millard. "But Imogen… I don't think she'll mind. Ever thought of asking her?"

"What right do I have to subject her to someone she can't even see? She won't even know I'm around."

"Millard, trying has never killed anyone." Jacob pleaded, only to be met with silence. After a minute or prolonged nothing, he called out Millard's name, and rolled his eyes when he was met with silence again. "If anyone has ever said conversation was frustrating, they should try talking to an invisible guy." The male muttered, as he wandered with Emma towards a spot next to Imogen, both prepared to keep up until their friend returned.

By the time Imogen rolled around to wake up the next morning, the first fingers of dawn already raced across the sky, when the branches cracked of their own accord, signalling Millard's return. Emma and Jacob who had been entwined with each other, started stirring at the noise. Enoch woke up with a start, Horace at a much slower pace, groaning and turning around trying to block out the sound and the creeping light. Millard however, made it straight for the stirring Imogen, kneeling down as her green eyes blinked open only to notice a floating headscarf.

"Millard?"

"How you feeling?" Imogen blinked at his question, for she was more curious on how his conversation with Radi went instead, and the girl voiced her questioned. Millard grinned to himself when he heard it, figuring that if she could ask that, she probably felt fine, before proceeding to settle himself next to his backpack and pulled out some tins and a loaf of bread, passing them to Horace for breakfast before he spoke.

"Radi was a little confused that I supposedly came back right after I left, but he settled down to tell me the story of the works in a different way from Madam Dust, which was why I suggested him." Taking a swig of water from one of their various canisters, Millard seemed to compose himself before speaking again. "He used to travel through various loops, someone who often visited tourist loops and such to help out before disappearing again. The Gypsies sometimes met him during his travels, for they helped to find various herbs and medication he would purchase from them."

"Is he a syndrigast?" Enoch asked.

"Radi thinks so. He's mentioned that he's had no training as a healer, yet somehow he knows exactly what herb to use. He's seen it, apparently, for the healer often helps if he happened to be around if a gypsy or two got injured or was ill."

"But….? I'm definitely sensing a but here." Emma started, when Millard tapered off. The invisible individual fell silent, until the rest almost thought he had left before his voice piped up again, worry evident in its tones. "That's it, though. He's… very difficult to find, according to Radi, especially after the recent flurry of hollowgasts and wights capturing people."

"And I thought we had _left_ all of that behind." Enoch huffed, earning himself a glare from Horace when he passed out a plate filled with bread and beans. It wasn't long before Millard was too busy stuffing his face to continue talking, that is, not until Imogen spoke up. 'How difficult does Radi mean, Mill?"

Millard paused mid chew, which was clear to see how the toast stopped almost as if someone was going to take a bite out of it, before it returned to the plate uneaten again. Imogen could almost see Millard pondering, before he spoke again. "He could be anywhere, but Radi named me a few places he frequented. Thing is… it involves more boats."

At that, Emma, Horace and Enoch all blanched simultaneously. Even Jacob winced, whilst Imogen blinked as she stared at their reactions in surprise. "Why?"

"If you _must_ know, the very first time we went off our island when the hollowgasts attacked, we had to flee in a boat. And then our boat capsized and we were all stranded with nothing of value to us."

"I still think if we had managed to salvage some of our belongings, our days wouldn't have been so bleak."

"That's easy for you to say, you fop. All you need are clothes to keep you happy." Enoch snarled back, only to have Emma snap at them to keep silent again. "What is _wrong_ with the both of you? Stop attacking each other's throats, we still need to find that healer to help Miss Peregrine." Emma reprimanded, reminding Imogen a little of how their own Headmistress dealt with the two of them. She couldn't help but raise a brow when Enoch pointedly looked away from Horace, but decided to leave them be and instead turned back to Millard. Their questioning looks must have been obvious enough, for the male quickly swallowed before continuing.

"Radi mentioned that the island loop he resides in has its entrance in a remote island, only accessible by boat. It's called Trista de Niue, and according to the Map of Days mostly inhabited by seals and penguins."

"Boats, though." Emma muttered, not at all liking water in the first place. Jacob took her hand and rubbed it between her palms, but Imogen's features were thoughtful for a while, before she asked, "Do the Gypsies have any boats?"

Millard thought for a bit, before shaking his head. "They've got plenty of horses, but no boats. Gypsies aren't fond of sea travel." Imogen frowned, meeting a little roadblock, before turning to Emma. "How far is the sea from here, and which direction do we have to go to get to Trista de Niue?"

"If I got the Map right in my head, we should head off the North Coast, and if we use a regular boat, would take us about half a day of sailing to get there."

"You have the map in your head?" Imogen gasped in surprise, a little admiration in her eyes which Millard flushed when he saw, and answered modestly. "I just like to read."

"He's a sponge for information." Emma tried to encourage, much to Millard's horror and embarassment.

"A walking dictionary you mean." Enoch dryly commented with a snide tone, earning himself a whack from Horace and a glare from Emma. Enoch was about to fight back to Horace when Jacob grabbed the younger boy by the scruff of his neck and growled. "Enough, you two. Miss P is waiting for us, and I don't think you want to leave the other's alone for so long do you? Knock it off so we can find what we need and quickly return to help Miss Peregrine."

"What's wrong with leaving them alone? We have now wights or hollows to be afraid of now, and we haven't left our Home for a year at least." Horace piped up for once, his eyes a tad mournful. "Miss Peregrine said she'll bring us on occasional holidays,but-"

"She's the head of the Council of Ymbryne's now, Horace. You've got to understand that she's been a bit busy over the past year. The Council have been trying to get the remaining loops organized. Not everyone got our ages reset you know." Emma started, in a tone that suggested she was quite frustrated with the younger ones. "We were just… well, I don't know if you'd call it lucky that we were in Abaton, but you guys know what I mean." Horace heaved a heavy sigh, but said nothing and instead returned to his last piece of toast whilst Enoch just sulked with his clay soldiers.

"They are restless, aren't they? That's why you brought them along as well?" Jacob asked, raising a brow at Emma, who just nodded without a word. Imogen blinked, an unspoken question which Millard answered while Jacob put out the remaining embers. "We spent a year in modern life with Jacob's family, but none of us could get used to the judgemental looks their parents gave us, so we left to go to our Home. The younger ones still itch to head outside on their own though, even if they aren't anywhere near ready yet. Even I'm not ready, and I'm already twenty."

Imogen gave a thoughtful look to the two sulking boys, and surprised Millard when she smiled. "Perhaps I can help with that once we get home."

"Home?"

"To Miss Peregrine."

"Well, that was quick. I would've thought it would take a while before you will consider our place home." Millard mused out loud, his tone containing elements of both pleasant surprise and delight that he couldn't hide. Imogen grinned, bending down to clear up their area as the sunlight flooded in. "I can't help it. I like the people around."

Millard turned back to look at her, his chest pounding when he noticed the way her eyes were trained on his position. Sure, he was wearing his scarf and clothes, but he was still invisible, as far as the twenty year old peculiar knew. So why did it feel like their eyes just met?


	6. Chapter 6

"Are you sure this is the way, Millard?"

The six of them travelled carefully, with Jacob and Emma right behind Millard who led them, compass in hand. Having not thought of bringing along a Map, they could only rely on Millard's memory as they headed to the North Coast, and the whole time Jacob couldn't help but be on high alert. He hasn't had the need to be so alert for any stirring of his gut Feeling for a few years, and everyone's nerves were running on high. Having been years since they last fought a wight or a hollow, no one was very confident they could still do it. And considering how they've lived the past few years in relative ease, it was both nerve-wracking yet familiar to be back in the time where peculiars ran in fright, haunted by their greatest enemies.

"Do you have any better idea?" The invisible boy shot back at Enoch, tone suggesting brimming anger. All of them were high strung, stirred by both anxiousness and weariness since they've been walking for hours. By now the sun was high in the sky, telling them all it was noon. But it wasn't till Emma noticed Horace lagging behind did she call a halt, and all of them fell gratefully on their bottoms, each finding either a rock or a tree to lean on.

"You guys drive a hard bargain don't you." Imogen commented with a tired laugh, grabbing one of the bottles she had kept in her backpack and taking a grateful swig. Her dark hair had long been tied up in a ponytail, face flushed with exertion and a smile adorning it when Jacob passed her a sandwich Emma had made for everyone that morning before they set off.

"We had to get used to it back then. We always had a time limit. First it was Miss 'Peregrine'," Jacob inserted inverted commas, to which Emma rolled her eyes and Horace groaned at the memory of them hauling a Caul in disguise around. "And then we had to rescue these guys and we didn't want to leave them in the fortress for too long." Jacob nudged the two boys and grinned at them.

Horace laughed, and even Enoch gave a snigger, but only Millard noticed the shudder that passed through Imogen when Jacob mentioned Caul's fortress where he held his prisoners. They freed a lot of them that day, but the bunch of them had been held hostage by Miss Peregrine to tend to their own wounds that none of them had a chance to take a look at the rescued prisoners. While Millard was horrified to even entertain the idea, he couldn't help but wonder as he looked at her subdued face… was she there?

Before he had a chance to ask her though, Emma stirred them up to continue again, hoping that they could get nearer to the coast before nightfall. They didn't manage to go ten steps though, when Jacob suddenly froze, his face knitting together in a face that Emma startled at. "Jacob?"

"Run."

Apparently, when Jacob said to run, _you run_. Almost immediately, Emma grabbed Horace and Enoch, hustling them towards the denser part of the forest they were trudging too. Imogen frowned, a little confused by the action when a hand suddenly grabbed her, yanking her along despite there not being a person there. "Millard?"

Imogen asked in surprise after a minute. But wasn't he wearing his clothes just a moment ago? "I shed my clothes. Hurry!"

"Why?"

"Remember Jacob's power? It's obsolete back in the Home, but in 1940 hollows and wights are still around. We haven't collapsed the Abaton yet, so when he says run, it means run. Hurry!"

Catching the urgency in his words, Imogen did as she was told, occasionally tripping over roots and fallen trunks as they made their way deeper into the woods, the lighting getting dimmer until Emma and Jacob finally drew to a stop. All of their breaths were labored and heavy, waiting in silence until Jacob spoke up to break their tense silence. "I think it's further from here. It didn't know we were here, so we got away… sort of."

"Hollow or wight?"

"Wight, I think. But don't be too comfortable even if it's a hollow."

"Why would we be comfortable if it's a hollow?" Imogen asked, completely aghast. Next to her, Millard spoke as he buttoned up the shirt he had haphazardly shoved into his bag when he shed his clothes, Imogen flushing as she watched the limbless movement of the invisible boy. "Because Jacob can control hollowgasts. Or speak to them, make them do his bidding, whatever you call them."

"I _used_ to. It's been years, so I don't know how to even start doing it now." Jacob cautioned, before he fell heavily to the ground, tossing his bag to a side. "Any idea where we should go now, Mill?"

"Thanks to our mindless running, I'm going to need awhile to get my bearings right again."

"You boys alright?" Emma asked, to find Horace and Enoch leaning against each other, sweaty and breathless, not arguing for once. Imogen didn't know if she should smile or laugh at them, for as much as they argued with each other, they clung to each other for protection, all of them did. Their wordless response was good enough for Emma, who announced she was going to scout where they were, stating they might as well remain here for a little while Millard and her figured out what to do next.

Pulling out her sketch book from her satchel, Imogen eventually settled down against a boulder, pulling out the pencil and placed the tip against the paper. Soon enough, the girl found herself lost in her drawing that she didn't even notice until Millard was leaning over her shoulder (well, to be more accurate, a body pressed against her shoulder and a scarf floated next to her eyes), did the girl realized who was next to her.

"So what did you and Emma talk about?" She asked, a little surprised at how comfortable she felt even with Millard at such a close proximity to her. She felt more then saw him shrug, and plucked her sketchbook out of her hands. "Not much. We're going to have to find our way back to the main lane again, which she said we'll do once Horace wakes up and Enoch finishes glaring at all of us. What is this?"

"It's my old house. Miss Avocet's loop in Derbyshire, actually."

"It had so many rooms?" Millard stared, aghast at the sketch. He couldn't help but compare their own loop to the house in Imogen's drawing, and how it would look like a cottage next to it. "That's not fair. I wonder if Miss Peregrine never thought of remodelling."

Imogen laughed, and again Millard marvelled at the sound, hoping he could do that as often as possible, especially if it chased away the haunted look that had lingered since Jacob mentioned the Abaton and the prison Caul had set up at Devil's Acre. "I don't think that's easily said and done, Mill." Imogen commented, taking back her sketchbook to continue touching up the surrounding area, working on an apple tree. "And you've got to remember, Miss Avocet and Miss Bunting needed a large space, since they had to house ymbryne's in training too."

"Well… you've got a point. But still…. Damn, if we had such a house, the kids probably wouldn't get cabin fever so much."

"Language, Mister Nullings."

This time, it was Millard who glanced at her in amusement, and Imogen could almost feel his look right up her neck as he chuckled, leaning a little against her shoulder. "When did you become such a stickler for language, Miss De Vere?"

"I come from the Regency era, Mill. It's a habit I haven't been able to kick even after 200 odd years."

"How was it like?" Finally, Millard asked out of curiosity. Being an absolute information hog and history buff, Imogen realized she was probably a walking history book for Millard. Her pencil paused at the smoke coming out of the red-bricked house she had sketched, and glanced at the empty space that was Millard's head for a bit. "Well, I was taken by Miss Avocet when I was thirteen, so I don't think I'd be much help… But the Regency era was… for lack of a better word, rigid."

Millard scoffed, trying to hide a laugh which Imogen mirrored with a grin of her own. "Ironic that it's called the Regency, huh?" She laughed a bit, before continuing. "I wasn't allowed out alone until I supposedly had my 'coming out' ball, but usually girls don't get that until they turn seventeen."

"What in bird's name is that?"

"It's like a… an announcement buffet. Where you announce your availability on the marriage mart." Millard's eyes almost bulged at the term. "What?"

"Marriage mart. Girls were born in the Regency era with one aim only - to find a husband." Imogen blanched at it, her eyes clearly showing distaste as she continued. "We're primped and beautified and made to look like dolls, with only one aim to marry, procreate and be nannies to children."

"Did you…?" Millard was almost afraid to ask, his chest hurting at the idea that she actually had _someone_ , even if that person was probably already a skeleton in a grave. But Imogen flashed him a horrified look, and shook her head furiously. "Hell no. Bird's no."

"Your language now, Miss De Vere." Millard teased, but his stance immediately relaxed at her vehement denial. Imogen flushed, and pretended she didn't hear him, returning her gaze to her sketch. "Anyway. I was too young, but I was always… peculiar. I didn't like people, after my sister Charlotte spread rumors about me being weird. I… I didn't know about peculiars back then. I just thought it was horribly amusing that I could bring anything I drew to life. But people in the Regency era are horribly judgemental. Anything that wasn't regular, normal to them, was weird, ostracized. A girl who only wanted to draw and barely talked? Definitely odd."

"Special."

"What?" Imogen paused, staring at the empty space above the bobbing scarf. She could almost feel the warmth rolling off, almost sure that Millard was staring at her. "I won't call it odd. You're most definitely special."

His words caught her off guard, a lump forming and a heat gathering in her cheeks, as Imogen's jaw gaped a little. It was a good thing Emma called them at that time to start going again, because if not, Imogen had no idea how to react. Watching as she quickly stuttered an excuse and grabbed her pencil to head towards where Emma was coaxing Enoch and Horace up, Millard wondered inwardly what did he just do. He promised himself that they would be 'just friends'... but he was beginning to understand what Emma meant when she said that she and Jacob would be more than that, or nothing at all. He had called Emma silly to deny Jacob even basic friendship when he had left the first time… but now, he fully got it.


	7. Chapter 7

"Is this enough, Imogen?"

In a small inlet protected by wind, the peculiars who were stuck in the 1940s seeking for a fabled healer looked at the girl who clutched a piece of driftwood in her hands, almost as if she was memorizing it's feeling, weight, make. Her fingers ran up and down the single piece, concentrated on its materials and size until Emma's loud voice drifted over to call her. Only then, did Imogen's dark head look up, to see the papers she had given them to arrange earlier held down by rocks, but in a single formation.

They were lined up 2 by 5, as large as the size of a regular boat, and held down by rocks. Emma crouched with Jacob on the furthest end, Enoch and Horace on the one nearest to her, with Millard placing the last rock down in the middle. The girl stared, before nodded once she's assessed its size. "Should be." She agreed, hopping down from the boulder she had been perched on, grabbing her array of chalks before sinking to her knees in the middle of the stretch of paper.

The sounds of the sea crashing against the surf was now background noise to them, having been at the coast for the past 12 hours or so. After their little scare the day before, they had been extra cautious. The group had arrived at the coast in the early evening, just as the sun was setting, but Jacob had balked against going beyond the safety of the forest, still feeling uneasy. And as always, all of them trusted Jacob's gut with their lives, and had lingered in the forest.

There, they had spent the earlier part of the night surrounding the fire Emma had built, wondering just how exactly they were supposed to find an island only accessible by boat. Imogen had been quick to come up with one, and it was why she had been holding the driftwood since early morning. For her to give life to a drawing of a sturdy boat, she had to be able to mimic its components, and its feeling. She knew how one looked like, but how it feels like was an entirely different story.

After they had nailed down what they should do once dawn broke, all of them had broke into their own groups, with Enoch playing his clay soldiers, Horace disturbing him and earning glares. Jacob and Emma were huddled together against a fallen log, whispering among themselves. Imogen had busied herself with the driftwood that Jacob had fetched for her, and Millard found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her slender fingers almost memorizing the contours and ubiquity of roughness and ins and outs of the thing.

Imogen herself, had clutched the driftwood like a lifeline, not at all sure how to react with Millard. He had been busy leading the group the rest of the day that she didn't have to actively avoid him… but did she actually want to? For if Imogen asked her deepest of hearts, she only avoided because she really didn't know _what_ to make of Millard's little announcement to her just before Emma had started them off again. Special? Special in what way? It was ironic, considering _technically_ , Imogen hadn't even laid eyes on him yet. She didn't even know what he _looked_ like, so how did one's heart race when all you laid eyes on was a floating shirt and pants?

Heck if he wanted to, Imogen probably wouldn't even realize he was right next to her.

Biting her lip as he shuffled near the fire (she was guessing anyway. Only the pants and shirt floated, but then again which normal clothes floated… wait, did they have peculiar clothing?), the green eyed girl settled down with her satchel and pulled out her sketchbook again, as her gaze flickered over to Emma and Jacob. She had guessed over the past day that they were together, in every sense of the word. But did it work? She had never seen relationships between peculiars… heck, she never even had one. But she's seen the tenderness in Hugh's gaze to Fiona, and how Emma and Jacob looked out for each other… did it work?

Her heart had a battle going on within them, but as Imogen tried to concentrate on finishing her sketch of Miss Avocet's home-turned-academy, she found herself unable to concentrate, wishing for Millard's presence next to her. Finally giving up, she walked towards the invisible male who had resorted to flipping through the Tales of Peculiars (which he's probably read a thousand times) by the small fire, noticing how the book started as she took a seat next to him, and leaned over his shoulders much like how he did earlier in the afternoon.

"You read this a lot, don't you?"

"Oh! Er, yeah. It's our only copy, and one of the few things that didn't drown the last time we capsized."

"Why, I didn't know you enjoyed fairytales, Millard Nullings."

"They aren't just tales!" Millard immediately jumped in, causing Imogen to blink in surprise. "But Miss Avocet had always told them to us as tales… I loved them, but as the years went by, I figured they weren't true."

"The Tales played an important part in leading us to Miss Wren and Addison actually." Millard pulled half the book to prop them on Imogen's legs, flipping towards Cuthbert's story and pointed it out. "Cuthbert himself isn't real, and neither is the witch, but Miss Wren actually had most of these peculiar animals on her menagerie."

That bit of information caught Imogen by surprise, her eyes scrutinizing the words, before giving Millard a look of partial disbelief. "For real? So you're saying… the stories are actually inspired by actual loops?"

"The more odd ones, perhaps. And maybe a few instances of historical peculiar figures. Like Perplexus Anomalus!"

"He has a story?" Imogen blinked, and then remembered what had Miss Avocet told them right after they were returned to her. "Wait, you actually _met_ him before, haven't you?"

"I have." Millard almost beamed with pride, grinning a smile no one could see, yet his voice said it all. Imogen had pounced on him to tell him everything that had happened, and that eventually turned into her asking him to tell her a story from the _Tales_ , and the next thing Millard knew, he felt a weight on his shoulder, only to find out the dark head had fell into a slumber on him. His heart had been encased in warmth, but when he looked up, Emma's knowing look had sent panic shooting within him again, brows furrowing.

Could he? Millard wanted to, but he was loathe to subject his sweet Imogen to someone she couldn't even see. What if she didn't even like how he looked like? Not that she'd ever have a chance to even _know_ what he looked like… but his wariness remained, and Millard had gently shifted her to sleep on her side, before moving away for the rest of the night.

When dawn broke, he threw himself wholeheartedly into the arranging of the papers for her to sketch on, and his eyes only trailed her movements as she picked up her chalk. On her knees in the middle of the stretch of papers, Imogen started sketching, her features immediately falling into that familiar arrangement of concentration Millard remembered from the few times she had done it with him around. Horace and Enoch had wandered away, as Imogen had warned them it may take awhile, but Emma had meandered towards his direction, leaving Jacob to watch over the two younger boys.

"Mil-"

"I don't want to hear it Emma. Leave it be."

"I don't see why you're not willing to try."

"You wanted to let Jacob go because you didn't want to subject him to being stuck in a loop forever. You should know better than anyone why."

"And I also knew that it was the wrong decision, and neither was it _my_ decision to make. She goes to you too, Mill. Why don't you ask her?"

"She's young yet, Emma. She's got her choices."

"Don't make her choices for her. You aren't her mother." Emma's tone was curt by then, apparently frustrated by Millard's stubborn attitude. Millard could only watch as she stalked away, her words not at all helping him. Looking back at Imogen, he threw a "I'll be back in awhile." At a leaving Emma, before he shed his clothes and left, needing to be alone with his thoughts.

By the time Imogen was done with her sketch, the sun was well in the sky and close to noon. The girl groaned as she stretched up, her bones cracking this way and that before she finally peered at her 5-paged masterpiece and cocked her head. "I _think_ this should do."

"No way to know unless you try it out." Jacob grinned, giving Imogen a nod. She in turn hopped towards the drawing, starting at the hull and tracing it with her finger. As she did so, the drawing glowed a faint white, and when she reached the same end and completed a full circle, a wave of her hand had the lines of her sketches swirl together before a flash of light blinded them. When they recovered their sight, an actual boat was before their eyes. A little worse for wear, and definitely not in the best condition considering the condition of the driftwood Imogen based her transformation on, but it was seaworthy… they hoped.

Imogen herself stared at it, a little tinge of disappointment which Emma picked up immediately. Enoch was just about to slip in a snide comment when Emma glared, kicking him in the knees and hushing his yelp by striding towards Imogen's rather vulnerable looking stance. "Don't worry, this works just fine, alright?"

"We're going to need oars though. Just a minute." The oars were quickly sketched up, yet due to her unsettled mind, when she ran her fingers over it, the transformation resulted it oars made of rock, much to Imogen's horror when she realized she had ran her fingers across the boulders. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Imogen, breathe, relax. We won't kill you for anything." Jacob tried this time, seeing the shivering in her fingers. "Do you need a break? The boat was a pretty big object for you."

"We're all going to die." Enoch scoffed, and Horace jumped on him. The resulting squeak from Enoch had both Emma and Jacob's hands full in trying to disentangle the two of the arguing boys. Imogen bit her lip, both nervous and a little pressured when she felt a grip around her shoulders, and a familiar warmth behind her. She didn't even have to turn to identify, or ask who it was.

"Gen, you're doing fine. Calm down. You're the only one of your peculiarity that I know, and you baffle me with what you can bring out with just a pencil and a paper." The voice, calm, soothing, slowed down her uneven breathing and racing heart. How could one's presence have such an effect on her? "Millard?"

"Try it, go on. I can't wait to see how they will work when we need them." He didn't confirm, but his voice was confirmation enough, for Imogen knew she'd never mistake that honeyed tone for anyone else's. Reaching out again, she brushed finger against paper, focusing on a smooth pattern of food, sturdy and strong this time. The sketch glowed, and Imogen grinned when a proper pair of wooden oars popped up. Her happy squeak attracted the attention of the others, and when they saw what she held, Emma laughed, Jacob uttered congratulations while Horace just socked Enoch on the head for being rude, before they all started lugging the boat to the sea.

"Where's Millard?"

"Right here!" A set of floating clothes jogged up to join the group of them pushing at the boat. But Imogen made sure only Millard heard when she whispered to him, accompanying her words with a smile only for him, a view that made Millard wonder if perhaps, he should try what Emma suggested.

"Thank you."


	8. Chapter 8

The movements of the seat felt unnatural at first, but the moment they got their sea legs, it took them little time to get settled. While excitement initially ran high though, the longer the hours stretched with no sight of land, the more the peculiars got restless, especially as day began to melt into night.

"I don't think we're going to make it there before nightfall." Emma finally voiced out everyone's main concern, to which Enoch scoffed and tersely retorted "We're going to drown."

"Shut your trap, Enoch." Jacob lashed back, a little more tightly than he'd like. He couldn't help it though, seeing the flash of minute panic cross Emma's features. "We don't have a choice, we'll sail through the night, but we'll take turns keeping watch so we don't run aground. Anyone want to take first shift?"

Emma was about to raise a hand, but surprisingly Enoch beat her to the punch and took the spot, much to everyone's surprise. They left the matter without a question however, and Imogen drew up a lamp which Emma lighted, before everyone settled in corners of their small boat while Enoch took up his position at the hull.

The corpse animator wasn't in the best of moods, really. He was frustrated, both with the situation they were stuck in, and the conflicts within him. Oh, don't get him wrong, it had nothing to do with the little journey they were on. If anything, despite his consistently dark mood, Enoch wouldn't want Miss Peregrine to be in any harm, and had jumped at the chance when Emma asked him to come along. It was just that he was frustrated that he hadn't been able to be of greater help… and something to do with a certain friend of his as well. Sitting on the hull of the small boat, his amber eyes glanced thoughtfully across the moonlit surface of the rolling waves, almost not paying attention to what he saw until a flicker of shadow flashed across the corner of his eyes.

Alert by then, Enoch moved over to kick Jacob, his foot about to flash out when the elder male doubled over halfway in his sleep, jolting Emma who was next to him awake. Almost instantaneously, Emma gave a loud cry of "Hollow!", and the whole boat jolted to action. Grabbing their oars, they began paddling through bleary eyes as fast as they could, but at the same time they all knew as well that there was fat chance that they were going to outpaddle a hollow in pursuit.

Making a decision, Emma dropped her oars and began throwing fireballs at the chasing hollow, but with the water surrounding her, her attacks left little damage. Realizing the difficulty Emma faced, Jacob scrambled to join Emma at the back, reaching deep within him to seek for that language he had long left alone. But while the words came easily enough, the barrier between his conscious and the hollow was as thick as the Berlin Wall.

" _Stop._ _ **Stop.**_ "

"Jacob!"

"I'm trying!" He muttered, giving it another try, but only managing to confuse the hollow for awhile. Realizing the futility of it, Millard finally threw the oar and loudly shouted "Grab your stuff, we're going down and everyone stay down beneath the boat!"

Grabbing the sides of it, Millard toppled the boat, everyone taking gulps of water and air mixed together, just as the hollow made contact with the bottom of the boat, it's sharp tongue lashing out and smashing the wood to splinters everywhere and exposing where they all hid under the capsized to the surface, Horace's eyes widened as he shouted "Jacob!"

But the other was quick to task, noticing the hollow doing a turnaround to dive for them again. It's three tongues lashing wildly everywhere, Jacob stared at it, willing it to slow down as it neared just enough. At the last second, the hollow-speaker drove a sharp stake right in its mouth, pinning it's throat as black liquid poured out and the hollow gave a dying gargle and fell in the sea with a great splash. The peculiars were heaving by than, heavy breathes they tried to catch up with whilst they clung along the wreckage of their boat, the pieces of wood served as their salvation through their disorientation.

It felt like an age before Millard finally spoke up to break their deathly silence. "Keep together. With how choppy the waves are, we may drift away if we don't hold- Imogen?" As if he suddenly realized the lack of one person, Millard's began to whip around, hoping it was just the black of the night preventing him from spotting her dark head. "Imogen?"

By then, everyone had noticed and began scanning the water too. Emma even tried to light up the area, feeble a flame as she could manage with her whole body shivering. It was Horace however, who eventually alerted everyone to a figure struggling to cling on to a piece of wood. Millard immediately launched towards the area, relieved when he reached and identified that it was indeed a bedraggled but alive Imogen struggling alone. His relief was cut short however, replaced by a bark of surprise at Imogen's confession.

"You can't swim?!"

"I didn't want to cause more trouble?"

Emma rolled her eyes, and Jacob couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or splutter, but Millard straight out glared along with Horace's frustrated growl before the invisible male grabbed her hands and made sure she was firmly attached to the driftwood he held, before turning to the rest of them. "Now what?"

"Now… we swim, I guess?" Emma finished, thoroughly out of ideas by now. Even Imogen had no suggestion to give. Her satchel was deerskin and waterproof, but she couldn't open it in the middle of the ocean.

They tried swimming, but peculiars still had the stamina of their age and kind and as such tired easily. Jacob insisted Emma sleep, Enoch grumbled as he carried the weight of a sleeping Horace on their shared piece of wood, but Imogen was a stubborn girl, much to Millard's consternation. It was only when daylight streaked the sky, and the faint outline of an island showed up in the breaking daylight and fog, did Imogen finally conceded and rested, and even then she didn't get any shut eye until their feet finally touched sandy beach an hour or so later.

"Where are we?" Weariness was clear in Enoch and Horace's voice as they trudged on shore, dragging their soaking wet bodies and clothes with them. "Somewhere. We'll figure it out later. Right now, I think all of us need to warm up before we catch hypothermia. Think you can manage it Emma?"

Their lips were all but blue, sopping locks hanging limply around their heads. Emma's teeth chattered, lips pale even as she shrugged whilst shivering. "I can try." She replied Jacob, hugging herself as they all headed towards a patch of green, letting their bodies fall to the ground out of pure exhaustion. Every cell of their bodies wanted to roll over and give in to sleep and rest, but Jacob was adamant about drying up, knowing that if they slept now, they'd all just wake up more susceptible to illness and getting sick, which would get them worse off.

"Emma, sorry love but you've gotta try." Jacob tried to soothe, rubbing his equally cold hands against Emma's arms. And the blonde haired firestarter knew, but with how cold she was, she could manage no more than a spark that did not serve to light any fire at all. Their hearts sank as they realized even Emma couldn't muster up the energy needed to at least dry them off, but Jacob wasn't easily disheartened, and instead started instructing all of them to strip off to as bare as they could without being indecent.

"Millard, everything off. At least if you warm up first, you'd be able to help us all. The sun is rising, so soon it's heat will definitely help."

"S-strip?"

"What's the matter? You used to defy Miss P to prance around naked all day. Now strip." Jacob huffed, easily agitated with how worried he was. Millard gaped, but could do little else but comply. The truth was, ever since he began to fancy Imogen, he was more and more self conscious about actually wearing clothes. It just seemed extra indecent to be around a girl you liked without a stitch of clothing on. Nevertheless, he saw the wisdom in Jacob's words and did as he told, draping his wet shorts and shirt on a branch nearby.

Turning back to the huddled group of his friends was a mistake however. Enoch and Horace were in their shorts, for once not squabbling but instead sleeping back to back, weariness winning triumphing over everything else. Emma was holding Imogen, with Jacob hanging their clothes out, but while Emma was in a camisole and a pair of boy shorts, Imogen had only a thin chemise, made almost see through from the wet.

"I-I'll try and go find s-some firewood." Millard announced, and didn't even wait for any of their replies before he darted off. While he was twenty and had technically just met Imogen, he was, at the base of it, still a guy who's never even had his first girlfriend yet.

By the time Millard got back, it was a good half an hour later, and they had dried off somewhat, with the rising sun warming up the cool night air. Horace and Enoch still slumbered, but the two girls just felt entirely too uncomfortable to be sleeping unclothed, and Jacob just felt too great a sense of responsibility to go to sleep yet.

"Ems, you up to it yet?" Millard asked, as he poured the minimal amount of wood he's managed to find on the ground, and intentionally averted his eyes from Imogen. Emma gave a feeble nod, leaning forward to touch one of the dry wood he's found. Luckily for them, a small flame sparked. It wasn't enough to get a fire going, but Millard stoked it for a little until it caught on, before he grabbed all of their drying clothes and started arranging them around the fire. "I-I think you girls can put on your clothes and go to sleep now. They should be dry enough."

Jacob blinked in surprise, for while the girls were too out of it to notice Millard's hesitant tone, Jacob has known Millard long enough to question it when he heard it. Luckily enough, Jacob had enough sense to let the girls settle down and fall into their slumber before he nudged Millard (or guessed his way, he almost fell on his side because he 'nudged' thin air, before he noticed Millard's footprints and got it right the third time) with his shoulder, and raised a brow. "What's the matter? And don't try and lie, Emma's told me what she noticed."

"Tattle." Millard muttered.

"She's only concerned, Mill. And you obviously care way more for Imogen then you let on. Why aren't you doing anything about it?"

"What can I do? It's not like I have anything to offer her in return."

"How about your care and devotion?"

Millard fell silent, and then the sound of scratching dirt informed Jacob that the invisible boy was getting up, and he made a last ditch attempt at driving some information home to Millard. "I had to choose between my parents and Emma. And just before you guys showed up on my driveway, I was regretting ever walking away from a place I knew very well I belonged. I think I should have it on full authority to tell you - don't walk away from your gut feeling."

Jacob had no clue if Millard actually stuck around listening to him, considering he had no way to locate him with his peculiarity, and as such just assumed he did, and returned to stoking the fire and fighting closing eyelids.

Much later, when the sun was right on top of their heads and the heat had definitely dried most of their clothes, Horace and Enoch had stirred, heading to a nearby pool inlet to see if they had any fish to catch for food. Most of their food had sunk, an eerie deja vu of their first time off the island, but luckily this time Millard was smart to strap the tins to his bag, and strapped the bag to himself. The two younger male's boisterous excitement over trying to catch the slippery fishes though, eventually stirred Emma and Imogen awake.

Jacob immediately grabbed their clothes and tossed it at them, before asking a question on all of their minds. "What now?"

"What I would give to stop hearing that question." Emma muttered, pulling on her shirt and shorts, while Imogen buttoned her yellow sundress. Before anyone could come up with a solution though, the loud rush of someone running through the nearby forest brush had them all tense, Emma lighting a spark on fire before a familiar voice called out to them. "Calm down guys, it's just me!"

"Millard?"

"Yes, come with me! I found something!"

Wasting no time, they quickly summoned the other two (with lots of whining, because they apparently had almost got one) before following the floating shirt and rather forlorn looking pants (Millard had hurriedly tossed on his clothes again. Jacob tried his best to resist looking amused and smug, but received a hurried, warning jab from Millard anyway. Emma was quite confused as to why Jacob was extra jumpy that day). "Millard, what is it?"

"I don't think we have that far to go anymore, c'mon!" Millard's voice conveyed more excitement than fear, which served to fan every else's, trudging along with adrenaline forgotten. After what seemed like a long time of making through the brush of the forest, the sunlight began to shine clearer through, breaking through the network of leaves as they neared the edge. The next thing they heard was the sound of waves, before they broke through the last of the forest, and on the other side of what appeared to be the rather small island they were on, just in front of their eyes lay another island.

But while the one they were on seemed fairly flat, rounded with only trees and forest in the middle, the other seemed to be made largely of rock and craigs, barely any sand and one tiny inlet. "Is that the one?"

"Radi mentioned having to climb, and little else. And look, at the top!" Following Millard's instructions, their eyes swung upwards to make out the small structure, what appeared to be wooden and almost hidden by a rolling fog. "He said that the healer was right on top, alone because he was a hermit. It's fitting!"

"So what are we waiting for, can we go now?" Horace's face was now bright with excitement, a vast difference from the weary look he wore just 10 minutes ago.

"Not a good idea, look." Emma cut in, just as Enoch and Jacob began to chime in with agreements that they should set off _now,now, now_. But when Emma spoke up, all of them turned up, and smiles turned upside down at the sight of dark clouds coming in. "I don't think we should risk a storm right now. What are we going to travel with anyway?"

"I can make another-"

"We don't have enough paper any longer, Imogen." Enoch piped up, and it was only then that the dark-haired girl began to notice that the only thing she had left in her satchel was her sketchbook and her chalks. The rolls of paper she had packed with her were either used, or eaten by the sea. Immediately, Imogen's face fell at Enoch's blunt truth, which only served to irk Millard, while his mind raced to find a solution.

"Is the distance possible for us to swim?"

"We'll all die drowning before we make it."

"We have wood on the island, don't we?" Millard suddenly spoke, leading to Horace nodding, and the invisible boy addressed the green eyed girl next "Can you make string?"

"I can try twine? Not string, I don't remember the composition well enough." Imogen offered, to which the boy considered for a bit, before saying it'll do. "We'll make a raft. Means we can't travel till tomorrow, but it'll do. Who knows, maybe by nightfall tomorrow, we'd be back at home and helping Miss Peregrine!"

That announcement brought a whoop of delight from all parties, before everyone dispersed to try and find enough wood to build the raft, and before the rain begins to fall in earnest.


	9. Chapter 9

So a raft was not exactly as sturdy as a boat felt, Imogen was beginning to realize with a sick feeling surely rising in her throat. A dry, parched feeling had began to bubble at the base of her throat, the longer their rather patchy raft rolled on the sea. Enoch and Jacob held the last two paddles they had managed to salvage from their wreckage of a boat, but otherwise, the blank piece of wood was simply held together by twine, so sparse in which Imogen was beginning to wonder if it was even capable of holding all of their weights.

Somehow though, her apprehensive look and possibly greening complexion might have showed, for suddenly the girl felt a warm grip pull her by the arm, away from the edge of the raft. "Stay away from there, unless you plan on toppling over for an afternoon swim." A hint of a laugh swam on the edges of the tone, but Imogen would never mistake that tone for anyone else's, so used she was by now to the teasing lilt in his voice, easy going tone, and everything it was that made it Millard's. How does one recognize someone you've never even see anyway? Don't ask her how, but she just did, and only when it was Millard.

Settling comfortably next to him, the rest of their gang didn't even give a second glance at how Imogen seemed to be leaning against Millard, before an idea that suddenly popped in her head made her green eyes sparkle. "Millard, when was the last time you got a good look at yourself?"

"What?" His tone suggested that he must have thought she was mad, but now Imogen was beyond curious. She wanted to know the face behind that warm voice that gave her the thrills, someone she had come to rely on no matter how blind it may be. "No really, tell me."

"Well…" his tone trailed off, suggesting that Millard was a little hesitant. For a second, Imogen was prepared to fight tooth and nail for him to tell her more, but when she felt him relaxed against her, she happily grinned when he began talking. "A good 80 or so years ago. I started dissapearing when I was seven, and the last of me went when I turned eight. Since I've been in the loop for 80… around there." Imogen let the silence between them hang for a little, before much to Millard's surprise, she began pulling her sketchbook out of her satchel, comfortably settling with her back leaning on his shoulders.

"Tell me about yourself."

"What?"

"Tell me." Her voice was stubborn, as was that upturned nose that Millard was beginning to think both annoying and adorable. Just what was this green-eyed minx wanting to do now? For the life of him, he couldn't decipher her actions, but knowing better than to argue with her, he complied, all while his arm itched to reach out and haul her to sit on his lap instead so he could get a good look and what she was going to do. "I… have blond hair." He paused, not at all sure how else to go on. What does one say to describe themselves? "Well?"

He recognized that annoyed tone, and scowled good-naturedly at the girl's head next to him. "I usually comb it back. I hate my hair disturbing my eyes. My forehead… I'd say it's pretty wide? My momma used to say my brows were as bushy as a squirrel's tail. Green eyes, like yours. Oh, people used to say I had a nose as sharp as a hook, high apparently. I was tall, even for my age, but tiny. My sister envied how I could eat and eat and never gain a pound. At least not visible ones." The whole time he talked, Millard could hear the scratching of her chalk on her sketchbook, yet moving would disturb her movements so he stayed still, until he felt her shift, and mourned the loss of her heat against his as she moved away.

Less than a second later however, he saw Imogen crouch in front of him, much to his surprise, and presented her two hands at him. "Bring me to your face. Cheeks." Her sudden command caught him by surprise, and it wasn't till she nudged him with her feet, did Millard jump to attention again, taking her palms with his and pressing them against his cheeks. He desperately hoped that she couldn't feel the intense heat flaming them at her touch, but Imogen seemed to absorb with brushing her fingers over his cheeks, the nose, pair of eyes, ears, and even thumb across lips which had Millard straining to take them between his teeth with a playful nip.

Finally, when it seemed Imogen was satisfied with her exploration, she retreated back to lean against his shoulder again, and by then Millard was all kinds of confused and frustrated. "What was that for?"

But Imogen hushed him, warning him to not move as she settled against him again. "Must you sketch now? Against me?" Millard asked again in amused frustration.

"It distracts me from feeling seasick."

"You get seasick?" He asked immediately, concern coming forth before his minor frustration at her odd behaviour. She hummed, shaking her head. "It's no problem. I've just never been on a raft before. It's a little bit more unsteady than a raft."

"C'mere." Unable to stop himself anymore, and after making sure Enoch and Horace were busy with the oars, while Emma held a sleeping Jacob steady so he didn't roll off the edge, Millard shifted so she leaned against his chest. "Eh?" Imogen made a surprised look, looking around (although a little pointless, considering Millard is still very much invisible), only to have the guy shift again so she couldn't really turn. "Continue, don't worry. This is just more stable."

Imogen bit her lip, surprised at how intimate their position was now with his arms (presumably) making a barrier around her, but she did as he said and continued sketching. The process was slow, considering the rocking of the raft resulted in her having to be more careful, and as such progress was slower than usual. Even when they finally grounded on the very small beach on the mountain island, she was only half done.

Despite arriving however, the group decided against scaling the steep sides as night began to creep its way in. Horace worried that they were taking too long for Miss Peregrine, what with them being delayed, but Emma vetoed against them endangering their lives scaling a steep mountain in the dark. As such, they remained huddled under one of the many dens around a fire. Horace and Enoch had long since fallen asleep, worn out from a long day of manning the oars. Emma and Jacob had went to take a walk around to figure out what their plan of action was the next day, leaving Imogen who was still very much concentrated on her sketch.

She had sprawled in front of the fire now, appreciating the light and warmth it gave off as she worked on it, Millard seated next to her. "What are you so intent on anyway?"

"Can't you tell?" The cheeky lilt in her voice made the male's heart skip a beat, trying hard not to let the effect on him show up as he spoke. "Who can tell, when you're working with minimal light and continuously try to block my view." Imogen laughed, flashing a cheeky grin in his direction that blossomed warmth in his chest, before she returned to her work, and he returned to observing her. "Are you almost done?"

"Almost. Just a bit more."

True enough, within the next half an hour or so, Imogen put the final few touches, pulling in her various colored chalks to fill in the blanks. Just before midnight, the dark haired girl finally scrambled up, holding her sketchbook before her to observe it, before finally giving a nod of approval. "All done!"

"Can I see now?" Millard ventured to try again, and finally smiled when she nodded and handed it to him. It took awhile for his eyes to get adjusted in the dim light, flickering flames, but when he finally registered what she had actually drew, even he couldn't stop the gasp of surprise. "This is…"

"I hope I did it accurately, considering I was going on instinct."

"Is it… me?"

"Did I get it right?" Imogen asked chirpily, settling next to him to look at the sketch as well. High cheekbones, sharp nose along with her shaded dirty blond hair and green eyes… something in Millard shifted, tender yet sweet for this was literally the first time in close to 80 years since he's seen himself. "You… made him different?"

"You, Mill. Not different, just older, since I'm quite sure you're no longer ten after we've left the loop for so long."

He didn't know how to respond, wonderment stalling his words and his actions. Millard couldn't tear his eyes away from the sketch, a face that should be so familiar, yet at the same time was so foreign to him. He brought his fingers to brush along the curves of the cheekbones, the sharp, spiky hair he knew she had felt as Imogen ran her hand across his features just a few hours ago… was that really how he looked like now?

"Do you like it?"

Her voice jolted him out of his reminiscing reverie, bringing his attention to her instead. Perhaps it was because of the night air, or maybe just because Millard was too distracted by the sketch of him, that he hadn't realized Imogen's proximity to him. So when he turned to her voice, his heart jumped into his throat when he realized how close she sat now next to him. Combining the distance with the fact that what she had just done for him was so impossibly sweet, the ballooning swell of affection and warmth he felt for her all exploded as he leaned down and caught her lips, displaying his thanks and adoration for the surprising little peculiar in one fell action.


	10. Chapter 10

If you had asked Imogen to recount what had happened that time, the only thing she'd be able to tell you was that it was bizarre. Forgetting the fact that she's never actually _been kissed_ before, plus the fact that Millard was _technically invisible_ , feeling lips on hers but looking at practically thin air was a little disconcerting. For about 5 seconds or so, the girl tried to get over the fact that she felt something pressing on her but can't see anything there at all, before the sensation of Millard's rather warm, very pliant lips were very comfortable where they nestled against hers washed over her, and suddenly everything felt like it was enough, yet not enough.

His warm breath bathed her skin as he pulled back, Imogen blinking partially in surprised, but more because she didn't really know how to react. For a peculiar who had been harbored in a loop for a good 200 years, Imogen wasn't exactly the most well versed at the art of courtship.

Of course, Millard wasn't either, but he was considerably more well read at least.

Had he been visible, one would've seen him blush almost instantly when Imogen's flushed eyes averted their gaze. Remembering instantly that Miss Peregrine had warned them all the moment they started aging to _be nice_ (this had been a private lecture to the boys, and they had never felt more teenager then they did then), Millard launched into a series of apologies which Imogen just as quickly tried to hush. "It's… okay. I… enjoyed it? I guess? Is that even how you say it?" Imogen was beginning to be a chatterbox, a trait Millard was beginning to notice whenever she turned flustered, and that in itself was enough to soothe his potentially bruised ego. She'd only be flustered if she had actually _liked_ him in return, right?

Acting on instinct, he grabbed one of her flailing hands as Imogen tried to explain herself, pulling so it now rested on his knee and leaned in to brush a chaste peck on her cheek. The contact had her instantly quiet down again, and Millard chuckled when he saw the rising flush once again. "No need for explanations, Gen. I like you, so we're even."

"Even?"

"Very even." He replied, pressing yet another kiss on the back of the hand he held, and grinned at her rather embarrassed look.

They rose early the next morning, not at all certain how long it'd take to scale the sides and not entirely excited at maybe being caught halfway when night fell. Emma made sure they were all secured to the rope Imogen had drew up, and started Enoch up first, before she followed suit. Horace went after with Jacob right under, which left Imogen and Millard right at the end. Luckily for Imogen, she had a couple of changes of pants (which she rarely wore, simply because it felt odd for a girl from the Regency era), and now climbed in a pair of khaki pants and a shirt. Her dark hair was tied up, a sight that amused Millard at how military she looked, especially since Imogen De Vere rarely looked anything less than the lady she's been brought up there. While Imogen hadn't fit in to society due to her peculiarity, every bit of her oozed a Regency era lady in the making, most of which simply endeared her to Millard even more.

At the same time, he was beginning to wonder if liking someone always brought with it such complex a degree of emotions. He felt his heart jump to his throat each time Imogen slipped, and worrying constantly if she'd be too tired out. He checked on her constantly, so much so that by the time they got to the first ledge for a rest, he was more mentally drained than he was physically tired.

Reaching for the bottle of water that Imogen handed out, Millard's brows furrowed when he saw her pale pallor, brushing his fingers against hers before speaking. "Are you sure you're okay, Gen?"

"I guess? For someone who doesn't workout, this is a whole year's worth of exercise." She tried to joke with a laugh. Imogen flopped next to Millard right after she said that though, and he felt her sag against his body with more relief than was needed, which prompted his usually overprotective nature to surge forward. "Hey Emma, you guys go ahead, kay? I think Imogen needs a bit more rest."

"Oh, we can-"

"No, go ahead. Miss Peregrine's been waiting for a long time, and I think Bronwyn and the others must be worried sick. Go ahead, we'll catch up." He insisted, knowing that Imogen would be stressed out if she slowed down the whole troupe. While Emma wanted to stay however, it was Jacob in the end who vetoed the decision (after noticing the close proximity between the two, had just given his own partner a glare and declared loudly that they should get going), which led to Millard collecting Imogen's frame in his arms the moment they had left.

Amusing himself at how her size could fit easily on his lap, he pushed her head to lean on his shoulder, stroking the silky black locks. Imogen breathed easily in his hold, her weary body thankful for the softness his body allowed, when a thought suddenly popped in her head, and she pulled the sketchbook she had been using earlier towards her. Flipping it back, the invisible peculiar raised a brow when she rested on the page she had sketched him on, and nudged her. "What are you planning on now?"

"Touching up. Hush." Imogen grinned cheekily, reaching up to run her hand across the contours of his face again. This time however, her touch was more familiar, more comfortable now considering he had technically surpassed all regular boundaries. She brushed thumb across lips, fingers over ears, and occasionally turned back to add certain strokes and brushes to the sketch. After awhile, Millard began to notice her adding lines, wrinkles when he frowned, or places where the years had been tougher to him. When Imogen replaced her chalk on the ground, Millard was wondering how Imogen could make something already seemingly perfect, look even better. "You're a perfectionist, aren't you?" He teased through his awe, at which Imogen laughed and leaned against him again. "A little, maybe." She paused, and then cocked her head with a curious smile. "I wonder…"

With that rather curious trail-off, Millard could only stare as she began to trace her fingers across the lines she's drawn. Raising a brow, the male tried to question Imogen, but got silence in return as she continued intently. Her fingers went past his brow, along his ears, and finally met back again, before she waved a hand over the sketch, watching it glow for a little, before fading again. Imogen laughed, noticing how the sketch still remained on paper. "It wasn't anything. Human sketches don't work, but I figure I'd just try and see if- Millard!"

Her sudden exclamation and stumble backward had Millard shocked himself, almost thinking a hollowgast came on attack. He was instantly on guard, that is until he realized the person Imogen had been staring in shock and surprise was _him._ Only then did he relax his stance, and asked Imogen curiously. "What's the matter, Gen?"

"You-You… I could see you!"

"What?"

"I… really!" She insisted, yet when Millard picked up his hands to stare at them, all he saw was nothing as usual. However, he knew better than to say it was a bluff, for what benefit did Imogen get from lying about this? "Are you sure? Maybe it was just a play of light."

"No, really!'

"Gen… Honestly, maybe you just wanted it too much." Millard's heart ached sweetly, in a good way for he could imagine how much the girl wanted to see him. It was his one regret, actually. "I want to, too. Really, if I wasn't invisible, I probably would've kissed you a long time ago." He gave a dry laugh, to which Imogen softened and stepped closer to him. "Mill, don't be like that. After all, how many girls can say they've kissed thin air?"

With a laugh, Imogen stepped closer to take up his hand, but the moment she laced her fingers with his, the ripple appeared again, putting flesh, bone, a thatch of dirty blond hair on a slender figure, with sharp nose and green eyes, and within seconds, Millard rippled to visibility in front of her again.

Once again, Imogen squeaked, but this time she didn't let go, and instead grabbed Millard's other hand and shoved it in front of his face. "Look! See, I didn't dream it up!" But Millard was too shocked, way too shocked to even respond. His hands gripped open and close in front of him. Were those his fingernails? "Do … we have a mirror here, Gen?"

"I can get one." She let go, but when she did, his hands disappeared again, like they've been for the past seventy years or so, much to his disappointment. When Imogen pulled out the crudely sketched mirror, she blinked in surprise at the floating shirt and pants again. "C'mere, hold me. I… think I can figure out why this is going on." A sleeve reached out, and Imogen grabbed in the general direction of it, grinning with relief as Millard's corporeal body appeared in front of her again.

The male reached forward to take the mirror, and a sense of awe settled surrounding him again as he looked in the mirror. The green eyes of his own, the pair he hadn't had a chance to even see in many, many years. His dirty blond hair, unkept and messy around his head because who'd see them anyway? But now as he flipped his head, he saw the stray lock of hair move away, saw more than felt his eyes blinking. Bringing the hand that gripped Imogen's across his cheek, the guy bit his lip when he actually felt and _saw_ the back of his hand brushing against his cheek, proving one final time that it wasn't just a hallucination or a hologram that made him able to see himself in the mirror. "How…" Imogen had started, but Millard had read enough to roughly guess what had happened.

"Like Jacob, kind of. Jacob's peculiarity was that he could see hollowgasts, those we can't see. But his powers would've been obsolete had he been born in a time without hollowgasts. In the end the ymbryne's realized that his power was not just to see _hollowgasts_ , but to be able to see things most of us can't."

"Why can't he see you then?"

"Takes time, I guess. He didn't even see the jars the first time he stepped in the Library of Souls, not until he focused. So I guess if he trained enough, he'd be able to see invisible peculiars as well." He shrugged, and shifted back to the topic "Anyway, considering your peculiarity is to be able to bring what is seen to be what is real, I guess it works in that you're bringing what usually _can't_ be seen, to be visible."


	11. Chapter 11

The rest of the way up wasn't easy, Millard especially was mildly distracted at how each time he helped Imogen and their skin came into contact, his body, arm, fingers, skin came flickering into view until he pulled away from her. It was beginning to be clearer that only with Imogen's touch, would he be seen, but as they climbed Millard couldn't help but wonder how would people react. Technically, only Miss Peregrine had any faint idea of how he looked like. When he had began to disappear, his parents had freaked out and tried to bring him to doctor after doctor. When the medicine knowledge of the 1900's couldn't help him, his parents had tried witch doctor's instead, and that was what Millard had truly despised.

They prodded and poked, tied and lashed, all sorts of experiments that Millard would have opted against if he had a choice. But what choice did he have back then? As a boy of eleven, what he wanted faded in preference of what his parents wished. And his parents had hoped desperately for a normal child. Millard had been the firstborn son, after numerous attempts.

But when his sister was born, when Millard was ten years old and 3 years after his peculiarity had began to surface, all attention shifted to little Melina. Millard got a reprieve on all the different sorts of antics his parents wanted to try, but by then all that was left of Millard was his neck, tips of his fingers and even his ears had began to disappear. It was then, that Miss Peregrine had arrived to take him away.

Don't get him wrong, his parents didn't dislike Millard. Sometimes, the boy wondered if he didn't develop his peculiarity, if he would've been the most pampered boy in his vicinity. They tried their best, but his peculiarity terrified them, and as a couple who didn't deal well with the unknown, they couldn't deal well with the son they had wished they could. So in the end, Miss Peregrine's arrival had been a blessing, and within 2 weeks of his arrival at the home, he had all but disappeared. Emma knew the color of his hair, and Bronwyn could remember the color of his eyes, but that was about it.

So right now, as the top of the cliff began to come in sight when they neared the top, Millard was amusing himself at how Enoch and Horace would react... or even Bronwyn, when they finally arrived back at the home. Would they recognize him still? He couldn't wait to return to the full length mirror he wanted to borrow from anyone of his housemates, so he himself could figure out what had changed, how had the years treated him. Technically, he was supposed to be twenty right now. How had he aged? Curiosity sparked like fireworks in Millard's mind.

"We're there, Mill." Imogen's voice drifted down to him, and the invisible peculiar looked up to see the dark haired girl scramble up, hands reaching out to pull her, before he too, grabbed the top. A pair of hands he recognized as Jacob's touched blindly, before they grasped his hands, and yanked him upwards. Millard tumbled at the force, rolling before grinning when familiar faces of those he's grown up wiith all his life appeared. Emma wore a smile, which he took as a good sign, and even Enoch and Horace weren't arguing (which they usually only did if the situation was highly stressful). Pushing himself into an upright seated position, his newly discovered status was pushed to the back of his mind as he got up. Before Millard could even ask though, Jacob flashed a grin and held up a glass bottle plugged up with a cork stopper. Within the bottle, lay a few pills that rattled as Jacob shook the bottle. "Got it. We can go back now."

Millard's grin, although it couldn't be seen, was bright as Enoch and Horace gave a happy whoop. Emma however, had a more pressing question where she turned to Imogen who had been grinning as well, "Do we have to return to the forest to be able to go back?"

"Not necessarily. I do need a sketchbook though, but..." she trailed off, suddenly grappling at her rucksack to pull out the only drawing materials she had left. One last page on her book, and a charcoal sketch pen. Biting her lip, she stared at her materials, and blinked, "I could try, but this could take awhile. Do we not get to see the healer at all?" she suddenly asked, curious now considering all of them had scaled some pretty impressive heights and traversed dangerous timezones. Emma and Jacob exchanged looks, but it was Horace and Enoch who went "No!" simultaneously, horror tinging their tunes that had Millard and Imogen blinking in surprise, a little caught off guard by the vehement denial in their voices.

Emma sniggered, Jacob hid a laugh, but neither of them offered an explanation other than "He's a hermit, he prefers his solitude. He gave us the antidote and chased us off, so I don't think he'd want us back." Jacob finally offered after a hasty cough to get rid of a laugh, much to Imogen and Millard's confusion. The two of them exchanged looks, but Imogen shook her head with an amused grin, before settling down to sketch what she could recall from her memory of Miss Peregrine's home in Scotland.

Once in awhile, one of the syndrigasts would come over and peek over her shoulder to offer suggestions, their memory better than hers since they've been there longer then she has. In between that, they wandered off to lounge on the surprisingly green surface on the cliff. The high altitude made the temperature cooler, and coupled with a balmy sea breeze made it almost seem like they were on a beach holiday, if all of them were not utterly anxious to return to Miss Peregrine's side.

It was almost nightfall before Millard began to recognize the signs of Imogen scrutinizing her work, and prodded Jacob to wave the rest of their motley crew over. Crowding around Imogen, they were quickly rewarded when Imogen grinned at them and nodded. The now-familiar actions of Imogen tracing her drawing brought a rush of warmth into their hearts, joy that they were finally going home. Enoch and Horace exchanged smiles, Emma muffled an excited squeal, but Jacob's grin was punctuated when a sudden shift in him made his senses go on high alert, as his eyes shifted from staring at Imogen's trailing fingers, to the wide open expanse surrounding them around the rocky island.

He wished, desperately that he had recognized the feeling wrongly. But the moment he looked up, color flushed out of his face. This was perhaps the one time Jacob wished that he didn't recognize the sick feelings in his gut so well now, because this time it was unmistakable.

"Just touch the ske-"

"Hurry!" Jacob interrupted Imogen's explanation, causing them all to turn surprised eyes to Jacob's wild eyed look. Imogen paused in the middle of directing Horace's palm towards her now glowing sketch, fingers gripping the younger boy's wrist midway through guiding him. "Wh-"

"Is there really a need to ask? Go! Go!" Jacob's tone now bordered on panic, and the intonation had managed to suffuse through all of them, making worry thread with horror. Was a hollow nearby?

"More! Wights! Go!" It was as if Jacob heard all of the questions unvoiced, but lingering in their heads, and all at once, action seemed to explode from the small crew of young adults. Using the grip she already had on Horace's wrist, Imogen yanked and more or less made him tumble through the glowing, haphazard portal she had constructed. Millard had made a dive for Enoch and pushed him through next, whilst Jacob did the same to Emma.

The two boys made a beeline for Imogen, but she shook her head. "I cannot! I need to stay here to keep this open."

"That's not what happened last time!"

"This sketch is rough, not fully detailed. I had the help of all of you, colours and time, less fear and more of Miss Peregrine's memories as well. This isn't a fully constructed portal and I need to close it if there's a wight hanging around. I don't need them coming after us, you guys need to go first!"

"We'll go together, c'mon! Hurry!' Jacob hustled, throwing a look over his shoulder and almost turning green when he saw the pupil-less eyes of the billowing wights, two hollows following in his wake. The male was dressed in a brown suit, with a thick head of hair and a sneer in his face.

"Gen, hold my hand!" Millard grabbed, and Imogen squealed as that sudden movement almost caused her to lose her grip on the sketchpad. "Jacob, go in first!"

"I'm no-"

"Go! We'll be right behind you!" Millard urged, shoving his friend through. Even he could see the wight now, almost hear his cackle when the figure threw his head back laughing. "We've found the healer we need, and a few gifts along with it too, it seems." That sneer brought chills up Millard's spine, the memories he was none too fond of resurfacing with the oily tone so reminiscent their guardian's sadistic and power-hungry brother, Caul.

"Where do you think you're going children? Caul will be pleased with my haul. Stay right where you are!"

"You must think we're demented. Don't worry, all will be over in a couple of days, just you wait and see!" Millard yelled back, turning to face the wight now that he had landed, making full sure that he covered Imogen's body behind him. He scowled as the two thumps behind the wight signified the arrival of hollows.

"Invisible, are you? You'd be useful to add to our collection. And what about that little lady there? What is she holding?"

"None of your bloody business." Millard spat, and hissed at the girl behind him. "Go, go on. I'll handle this."

"No, not without you." she retorted with equal fervor, making Millard curse her stubborn nature. Before he could even stop her, she sidestepped the floating sweater and shorts that shielded her from the wight and gave a full glare at the empty look the other threw at her. "Wrong timing, mister. All that you know and are familiar with will be gone in a few days."

"What do you mean, you little wench? Caul's plan is flawless, and with the help of Jacob Portman, we'll be invincible. Peculiar's can finally take our rightful place as the more superior race!"

"But the world doesn't tilt that way, you power-hungry creatures. Besides, the rest of us never even asked for ruling the world. Don't group us peculiars with your twisted needs." Millard growled back.

"Why you little-" he whipped out a shotgun, to which Imogen immediately pushed Millard back towards the sketch she had laid carefully on the ground. The sudden movement shocked Millard, making the peculiar fall just as a shot rang out. "Gen!"

It was like watching in slow motion as he fell. Just as the warmth of the portal engulfed him, the girl jerked as if punched from the back. Instinctively, Millard reached out to her as he fell, managing to grab her by the waist just as she twisted her own body and grabbed at the edges of the portal. Her fingers ripped the paper on its surface, sealing the way to the 1940s before they both fell with a thud back in the present, the warm afternoon air and chirp of birds a facade to what had happened just seconds before.

The fall jostled Millard's senses for a brief second, but his arms never left the weight on his body. It took awhile for his head to clear, but when it finally did, he cleared his vision to find gaping mouths and wide eyed stares at him. "What?"

"Who… Wait, I know those clothes." Jacob paused, with a surprised Olive standing next to him, before he blinked and gasped. "Millard?!"

"Oh my goodness, is that really you, Millard?!" It was Bronwyn's turned to gasp now, and Olive squeaked, stepping closer as if to examine him. But their shock was pushed by the wayside as his conscious cleared and he began to realize that a pool of liquid warmth was gathering on his chest.

Hurriedly sitting up, the male shifted the slight sized, unconscious female in his arms, and chest pounded painfully when he recognized the crimson pool staining his arm, his fingers where it touched, and the rapidly paling skin of Imogen's closed features. She had been shot in the back, just before she closed the portal, and the blood was rapidly draining out of her.


	12. Chapter 12

"Imogen!" Claire had squeaked, when she realized the pooling blood around the unconscious girl. By then, Millard's pants was soaked through, but the blond male barely noticed as he clutched tightly at Imogen's unmoving body. "Get that medicine to Miss Peregrine, now Emma." Millard snapped, with a tone that was so tight, even Emma got frightened. She stood shocked, only moving when Jacob finally shoved her, and then crouched down next to his friend.

"You have to let go of her, Mill. We need to see her back."

"Where's the nearest clinic or healer? I'll bring her there."

"That'll take too long-"

"Leave off, Millard. You're hurting more then the stupid gunshot." Imogen's weak voice suddenly wavered in between the panic where Millard clutched her, Claire and Olive clutched each other as Bronwyn stood over them, Jacob trying to keep calm and Enoch making sure Horace didn't pass out from the overwhelming sight of blood.

The moment they heard her voice however, all of their attention diverted on her (except for Horace, Enoch's had to help him back to the house. As much as he didn't want to, the sight of blood didn't sit well with Horace at all), Millard's especially. His heart clenched when she saw her wince, but relief mingled with it at the same time as Imogen's eyes fluttered open, albeit weakly. "You're awake."

"Of course I am, you dolt. It's a gunshot to my upperback, so it's not going to kill me yet." Imogen replied dryly, managing to pull a smile from Hugh, yet Millard was far from looking calm. "Can I move you? I'll carry you to the -"

"I'm not going to any healer. I don't want to have to explain why the moment you stop carrying me, you disappear."

"I just won't stop holding on to you then." came Millard's smooth answer, garnering raised looks from everyone yet went unnoticed by the two, even as Millard picked her up in his arms and slowly propped her up so he could examine the wound. His eyes picked up a fairly deep one, with a bullet still embedded much to his discomfort. Deciding to stop the biggest issue of her bleeding however, he motioned at Jacob to hold her, before Millard stepped back to pull off his shirt.

The peculiar children could only stare in surprise as Millard rippled out of corporeal view once all contact with Imogen was lost. Watching the floating shirt get pulled off, he flickered back into view (shirtless this time) as he gripped Imogen's shoulder, and gritted his teeth as he pushed the wad of his shirt against her wound, apologizing quickly as Imogen hissed.

"There, just enough to stop the bleeding. Can we please get to the clinic now?"

"I already said, no doctors."

"You don't like doctors?"

Imogen made a face at Jacob's question, blanching enough to show her discomfort at the idea before she spoke. "I was in the… that loop, when it collapsed. That's why my age resetted itself as well." her admittance came in a whisper, but her words were understood by all easily, for they all knew which loop she referred to. "You… were tested?" Hugh finally ventured to ask, and Imogen bit her lip before nodding.

"I… I was kept restrained against a bed for the longest time. They drained you, like you would juice a lemon. Everyday. It felt like your very soul was being sucked out of you, like your heart would be squeezed dry and-" she paused, as if unsure what other words could be used to describe the immense pain one went through under the hands of Caul's ministrations. But none of them really needed her to continue, for the way her voice broke was proof enough, they too saw first-hand the condition of Caul's prisoners. The peculiar's under Miss Peregrine's care considered themselves lucky they were just captured, and not extracted of their souls yet.

"No doctor's." Millard finally agreed, but even as he said he it took back grip of Imogen, settling her against his chest, worry biting him when he registered the fast paling cheeks of Imogen. "But what can we do? _Something_ must be done."

"Let me try." A voice popped up from behind the crowding peculiar children on the lawn of their house, and they parted to find a stoic, but determined looking Enoch staring at Imogen. "Where's Horace?"

"Weak willy is in his room, sleeping. He's konked out after our journey." Enoch replied Hugh's curious question, stepping past Fiona who stood by his side before heading towards Millard. "I harvest hearts and implant them into homunculi and people. I think I can get that out."

"After that?"

"After that, all we need to do is bind it. I don't think it needs stitches, luckily. It just looks superficial, if it was deeper Imogen wouldn't be sitting up the way she is." Bronwyn put in, for she was the one who mended them all whenever they needed mending. Trusting her word, Millard turned now suspicious eyes on Enoch. Despite the fact that they've all been together for more years than any of them care to remember, Millard was terrified for Imogen. "You sure you know what you're doing?"

Enoch flashed Millard a scowl, and stepped back. "I'm your best bet, take it or leave it. I only came because Horace urged me to."

Millard blinked in surprise, finding it odd that Enoch would listen to what Horace would say, but in the end even he conceded the truth in Enoch's words, that they really had no better choice, and finally nodded. "Bring her to the hall. Someone bring the dining table out there and cover the table and the area around it with cloth. I'll go grab my utensils. Someone get the kettle running."

Enoch's directions were precise and brief, but everyone quickly ran off to do as told. Bronwyn headed to the dining table, whilst Claire and Olive busied themselves at the stove, with Hugh and Fiona running for sheets. Within minutes, Millard and Jacob were arranging Imogen's still body on the table, and Fiona walked in with a bottle of liquid in her palm. "Take this, Imogen. It'll put you to sleep."

By then, Imogen's eyes were half focused, and drifting in and out of consciousness. Millard had to tilt the liquid into her mouth, brushing them close with a whisper of "I'll be here when you awake, before they were all chased out of the hall. Only Millard remained with Emma and Bronwyn. Emma had fed the medication they had garnered, and Miss Peregrine seemed to respond, so the firestarter had convened in the hall, eager to help for she too was worrying over Imogen.

Enoch seemed perfectly capable of handling stuff himself though. With the tools they had scalded in piping hot water, he had arranged them within easy reach. Millard's anxious gaze never left Imogen's sleeping features, but it soothed him to see she didn't even twitch as Enoch eventually pulled out and let a small, silver bullet drop with a 'clink' into the waiting porcelain bowl.

Grabbing the bowl of warm, clean water, he proceeded to wash the wound and dab medication that Fiona had left, before Bronwyn and Emma stepped forward to take over the dressing of the wound. Pulling her gown off from her and redressing her (the boys were helping Enoch clean the utensils and dispose the bullet whilst they dressed her), Emma finally let Millard carry her up to her room. The other's couldn't help but stare as Enoch shimmered into view the moment he picked the sleeping Imogen up, and the twenty-year old peculiar noticed, grinning at their dazed and curious looks. "We'll explain once she's awake."

Letting it pass for now, they watched as Millard headed up the stairs, before Bronwyn moved to place the table where it belonged, and Emma turned to the younger boy who was drying his freshly scrubbed hands. "Thank you, Enoch."

"Don't thank me, Horace insisted."

"Do you simply not care at all, Enoch? Not even after we've been friends for so long?" Emma finally asked, unable to believe just how cold the young boy could be.

"I'm… I'm not worthy of your friendships." The surprising revelation led Emma and Jacob to exchange surprised looks, but kept silent as Enoch continued. "I'm neither as brave, nor as strong as any of you. What I can do, cannot help much in a battle. I will help as I can… but my family did not take pride in me, so taking pride in who I am is difficult."

"So why do you act so cruel?"

"It isn't cruelty, it's his self protection." Horace's voice from the stairwell made them all swivel their gaze there, and almost immediately Enoch scowled. "If you're still unsteady on your feet, stay upstairs Horace Somnusson."

"I couldn't sleep. Bronwyn's shifting of the table woke me up." Horace replied, his tone surprising the other two at how gentle it was when he addressed Enoch. Turning back to Emma and Jacob, he gave a small smile at his friends. "He cares, but he doesn't know how to, so he tries to hide it. Give him some time, he is learning." with that, he turned to his friend again, and motioned at Enoch to come along, before the two boys left for upper stairs, leaving Emma and Jacob to just stare at each other for a long minute. "What was that about?" Emma finally voiced out the question both had on their minds, but it wasn't as if Jacob had an answer. Her partner simply shrugged, clearly as mystified as she was. Both however, were brought out of their mystification when Olive's came prattling down the stairs to summon them.

"Miss Peregrine's up!"


	13. Chapter 13

It was as if the whole of the household (except for Horace and Enoch) was milling around the first landing when they got there, but Bronwyn was very firm in the fact that too many was not allowed in at the same time, much to the younger one's dismay. Fiona was helping Bronwyn to coax the rest of them to sleep, but Emma and Jacob managed to slip in as the younger ones were distracted, a huge relief settling upon them when they saw their beloved mentor and guardian seated upright on her bed, Millard seated next to her (or so they assume, since there was a floating checkered shirt hovering over a chair.

"Millard?"

"I should assume so, Mister Portman, unless we got another Peculiar child during the time I was ill." Miss Peregrine's dry tone was a balm to hear for all of them. Jacob grinned, and gave an abashed smile. "No, Miss Peregrine. It was just that… we had a very interesting trip."

"One that I expect to hear all about once I'm back up tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow Miss Bloom. I am not that ill, and the medication you have all fetched for me will do wonders. Now, where is Miss De Vere? I believe I have her to thank as well."

"Oh that.. Well, see…"

Before they knew it, the story had come tumbling out from all of them. From how they had used Imogen's powers to travel through time back to _that_ time (Miss Peregrine had been horrified, and would've probably chastised them there and then had they not just pushed on with their story), to their various encounters with wights and hollows, how Jacob had some issues recognizing his powers again. Miss Peregrine had been amused at the ingenious usage of Imogen's peculiarity to traverse the waters to get to the island, horrified that they had capsized and almost drowned.

But it was when they finally revealed to her that Imogen had been shot and was no still sleeping from Enoch's medication, that she had her last straw. Even Bronwyn could do nothing, as the stern headmistress insisted on going up to peek in on the girl. So it was then, that Emma, Jacob, Millard and Bronwyn each played their part in assisting the still rather weak ymbryne up two flights of stairs, to enter the rooftop room.

And as if he was attracted to her like a magnet, Millard flitted straight to Imogen's side the moment they entered, his worry emanating even though he wasn't even visible. Pausing at the sight of the floating shirt making a beeline for Imogen's bedside. Frowning, the ymbryne casted a confused look at Emma, who just shrugged, and squeezed Miss Peregrine's arm. "Look what happens when Millard touches her."

But even the warning could not have prepared Miss Peregrine for the shimmer of color under what previously was an invisible body. For someone who had seen Millard Nullings disappear from her very eyes, and stay invisible for a few decades, she couldn't help the gasp of surprise that escaped her when she recognized the dirty blond hair, sharp cheekbones and jaws, brown eyes… the Millard she had brought back almost eighty years ago, except a couple of years older.

"Millard?"

The sound and question by Miss Peregrine appeared to have disturbed Imogen though, for the dark haired girl stirred then, all questions flying out the window when a flutter of her lashes brought her eyes slowly into focus, only for her to wince. That immediately had Millard hushing her, palms lying quickly on her shoulders to still her movement. "Settle down, love. Don't move, Enoch just patched you up. You'll be in bed for a few days yet."

"Miss De Vere, do you feel okay?"

"Pained. But otherwise fine."

"Pain is common, considering you just got shot. But Mister O'Connor is actually a very good surgeon. He has been studying the subject since we got back to the normal time. He's had eighty years of practice after all."

With Miss Peregrine's faith in Enoch's abilities, a collective sigh of relief escaped them all, before their mentor finally picked up the reins again. "What exactly happen, Mister Nullings? Do you care to tell me how I've now managed to realize you need new pants due to the length now?"

Looking down, Millard almost laughed when he realized his pants were no longer long enough for him, something easily overlooked when he was invisible. A sheepish grin came across Millard's face, but it was Imogen's weak voice that cut through the silence. "It was me, Miss Peregrine. Is it not good… that we can see him again?"

"No, Miss De Vere. It isn't _not_ good persay, but is this permanent? I have yet to see a peculiar's ability get erased."

"Nope, it isn't. Once I let go of her hand, I'll disappear." Millard demonstrated, before continuing. "She drew a sketch of me based on what she felt, and then sketched. She had just traced the drawing for fun with her fingers, but when it shimmered and she held on to me… it just somehow happened?" In all honesty, even Millard and Imogen wasn't sure how they could explain it, so he just tried as best as he could, for he still didn't get the logic behind it.

Looking to Miss Peregrine for guidance however, the younger ones blinked when she merely smiled. "Tis very normal, actually. Peculiarities evolve with time. Like how Mister Portman took some time before he could see the jar of souls in the Library?" Their nod prompted her to speak further, addressing them all this time.

"If it had been any other regular circumstances, Jacob would've had to be trained to be a Librarian, and it would've taken him months to be able to see, and then possibly a few more weeks before he could hold a jar. But our circumstances perhaps prompted him to pick up the skill in a very short period of time, due to the emergency of the situation then. This is simply a manifestation of what Miss De Vere could probably do. I suspect her peculiarity is much like Mister Portman's, except while Mister Portman is the only one who can see, Miss De Vere makes it so we can _all_ see stuff others cannot."

"So if she were to touch a jar of soul, we can see it?" Emma asked.

Miss Peregrine nodded. "She can touch it, but she still cannot pick it up. That job lies solely with Mister Portman. I suspect Miss De Vere would've been a form of Librarian as well, much like Mister Portman actually."

"So we could be like… cousins across time loops?" Imogen teased weakly, her laughing dissolving into a cough halfway through, which managed to remind them all that she still had an unhealed bullet wound.

Hearing that, Bronwyn was quick to usher them all out, before Miss Peregrine asked again, with more color back in her face this time. "Where is Mister Somnusson and Mister O'Connor?"

"Oh, them." Emma echoed, exchanging a look with Jacob and Millard, and then tentatively trying to tell the story of the oddity surrounding the two boys throughout their journey. "And then Horace said something about Enoch being scared and they just… went up."

A thoughtful look flitted across her face. "Head back to your rooms to rest, you must be tired. Miss Bruntley can accompany me up. Bronwyn, would you please bring me to Horace's room?"

Ascending the stairs, Bronwyn had to pause a few times for the elder ymbryne to catch her breathe. When they finally arrived at the second landing though, Miss Peregrine surprised Bronwyn by telling her to wait outside, before she stepped in. The dimly lit room greeted her, but a pair of eyes immediately met hers when she tried to find the two boys she searched for, only to find them curled up on a single bed, with Enoch holding a sleeping Horace against his chest.

"Mind telling me what happened, Enoch?"

"I love him."

"Like a brother?"

He shook his head, careful not to jolt the slumbering partner of his. "More." he paused, and Miss Peregrine allowed the silence to fall, letting him speak when he was comfortable. "I know tisn't proper, Miss Peregrine, but Horace… is kind. He understands. He can see, and he doesn't judge me like how Emma and the rest does."

"I'm sure Miss Bloom and the other's don't mean it-"

"I know they don't, Miss Peregrine, and I don't fault them for it. But it is painful to have to avoid people because of what they think of you. But Horace doesn't. He knows I care, he makes me want to be a better person because of what he thinks of me. I want to be that person he has placed on his own pedestal. My own… my own family ostracized me once they found out what I was. I never believed that I could ever do anything with my powers but he…. He did."

"He was the one who got me the first few medical books I ever read. He made me see that it was because of my peculiarity that I could probably get answers no one else ever could, help solve mysteries that would otherwise remained unresolved. He… I tried to deny it, but when we met the healer on the mountains he said…"

"He said that denial won't make what we feel go away. I know I love him, Miss Peregrine. I just never had the courage to do anything about it until he took the first move." Horace's sleepy voice spoke up, apparently woken up by the noise. Enoch shifted as his partner sat up, but the two never lost contact, still connected by touching kneecaps.

"I hope you get it, Miss Peregrine. Enoch makes me courageous when I wasn't, and I in turn know he can do so much better than what he thinks of himself. We-"

Miss Peregrine stopped their tirade by holding a hand up, but the two boys were mollified by the fact that they had a smile on her face. "I understand, boys. Please, do not think I'm about to prosecute you for this. Love is love, regardless of who or what it is with. Do understand however, that I will scrutinize you two as closely as I do to Miss Bloom and Mister Portman, until you are of legal age. You two are also to sleep in separate rooms now. Enoch, you will change bedrooms with Millard and room with Hugh now."

More relieved that their guardian had not reacted in horror, the boys merely nodded (even if they'd get frustrated by the change in rooms in future days), and were left to savor their last night alone in the room they shared together, as Miss Peregrine stood up. "I must also caution you that not all around you will accept what you have. Be cautious on who you tell, and who you associate with. I may not always be around to protect you."

With that, she left the room and allowed Bronwyn to help her back, realizing that it will take a few more days before she recovered her original strength. "Has everyone went to bed, Bronwyn?" she asked, realizing by now how fully she relied on the simple minded peculiar to help her in the day-to-day going ons of the house. The girl nodded, before speaking. "Everyone except Millard, Miss Peregrine. He said he'll go back to his room after he's sure Imogen is fine."

"See that he does so, Miss Bruntley. They are young yet."

"He is twenty though."

"And this is the first girl he's been with. Allow them some time, but after that get him back. They both need their rest afterall."

"Feeling better?" Millard tenderly brushed Imogen's forehead, relieved to find the color coming back to her features. He had been so afraid for her, that at that split moment he realized he would do anything to keep her with him. In a brief period, Imogen had managed to crawl her way under his skin and into his heart, a part of him that he doubted he'd ever learn to survive without.

Her wane but sweet smile made a smile curve his lips too,a sight Imogen drank in with delight. She never imagined she'd be able to see his face, but she had been contented with that, just happy that he was around. The sight of him now had her heart beating a mile a minute however, something she wasn't sure was safe for her, considering the dressing that bound her wound at her mid-section.

"Sleepy, but better." Was her weak reply. He smiled, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "How's everyone? Is Miss Peregrine okay?"

"She's fine. She went to take a look at Horace and Enoch I think. Emma and Jacob are back in bed, and the younger ones are knocked out, although I suspect they'll be all over us tomorrow. So you better get your rest so you can deal with them."

A knock sounded on the door, and Bronwyn's voice floated in. "Millard, Miss Peregrine wants you to get to bed. I'll take care of Imogen for the night."

Disappointment pricked at Millard's heart, for he was loathe to be apart from her, but they should've known better that Miss Peregrine wouldn't allow them alone for any long period of time at night. After eighty years, they know how uptight their guardian could be regarding their propriety at times.

"You would think she'd let up. I'm twenty now, following my regular age." Millard grumbled, getting a small and soft chuckle from Imogen. Burying her fingers in his dirty blond locks, she tugged at it, grinning at her partner. "Relax. We'll see each other tomorrow."

"And every other day after that."

"Have you ever thought of leaving here?"

"Plenty. I've always wanted to be a historian, a lecturer. A teacher."

"You'd make a spectacular one, Professor Nullings." she teased, and he laughed, lacing his fingers with the ones in his hair, squeezing her hands. "And you?"

"I want to draw cities, lands, towns, people… everything."

"We'll do it all together, one day."

"Millard!"

"Oh for Bird's sake, I'm coming!" he retorted with a huff in his breathe, and grinned when he heard Imogen's amused laugh, and her push on his shoulder. "Go already. Don't make Bronwyn wait forever."

"I'll see you tomorrow, love."


	14. Epilogue

The sharp screech of wood against concrete floor resounded across the large lecture theature. Outside, students began to flood the halls of Edinburgh University as the bespectacled professor waved to his students leaving the hall, he too grabbing his leather satchel to leave. Although he looked young, the professor was one of the most respected educators within the halls of the Scotland university. He usually lingered in the staff room after hours, awaiting the flood of students leaving campus to subside, before he left for the subway to return home.

Today however, plans which had been made with childhood friends saw the thirty year old lecturer hastening his steps, not really minding the accidental jostle occasionally as he finally stepped on to the platform of the subway station.

"Professor Nullings! You're going home early today?"

Turning his blue eyes to glance at the owner of the voice, Millard smiled when he saw his star student, Cecilia Kinloch with her bag hitched across his shoulder. "I have plans with my wife and a few friends. We're having a dinner party."

"That sounds like a splendid way to end the week. No wonder you turned down our invitation to The Dome."

Millard laughed at his cheeky students waggling eyebrows, glancing up as his train rumbled into the station. "Just remember your deadline for your Culture and Societal Behaviour class on Monday." he warned, laughing again at the stricken look on Cecilia's face behind the closing doors of his train. Shaking his head as he hooked an arm on to a holder, the male gave a look around, and heaved a sigh. He should've known better then to have hoped that he would've gotten a seat on the train during peak hour.

"Emma, the next time you interfere the way you did I swear I won't hold back."

"For Bird's sake, Jacob. I was doing my job, just as you were doing yours!"

"And when I have to come and bail you out for being a suspect of arson, how would you explain that to mine and your bosses?"

Rounding a corner, he raised a brow when he saw two familiar, albeit older faces arguing as they came up the sidewalk opposite of him, crossing the road. "Still at it after ten years you guys, really?" Millard teased, grinning when his two best friends looked up and gave him a warm smile the moment they realized who it was. Accepting their hugs in turn, he turned to lead the way up the stairwell as he tossed the question over his shoulder.

"What did Mrs Portman do this time?"

Jacob rolled his eyes, tossing his wife a glare. "I was working on a case involving a traitor to the CIA, when she decided to barge in during my operation."

"And I repeat, I was just doing my job! Or do you need me to repeat to you what a security officer for the United Nations does?"

"As I was doing mine. Ems, I was

to catching that traitor. I've spent

deciphering our clues and information!"

"So give us the pointers and we'll do the hard work. You're CIA Special Agent, Jacob. Your job is to

. We do the executing, remember?"

"CIA does the executing, not the United Nations."

"You know, you two really need to sort out how your jobs clash with one another one day, before you end up killing each other in line of your job." Millard suggested, rounding the last landing before they got to an ornate, oaken door. Pulling out the key from his pocket, he slipped the metallic device into its slot, and turned it with a click. "Gen?"

"In the kitchen." The familiar voice he's heard everytime he returned home ever since they moved to the outskirts of Edinburgh four years ago floated from the kitchen. All of them had took up tertiary education at the same time, commuting between Miss Peregrine's home and Sabal Mor Ostaig, the university closest to their home as young adults.

Graduating at various different years, Emma and Jacob had entered their respective academies and came out to take on positions at the CIA and Scotland's United Nations. Quite often, Millard and Imogen wouldn't hear from them for months if a case or investigation kept them busy, so Jacob and Emma would often beep them if things settled down for a bit. At those times, they either organize a trip back to visit Miss Peregrine and the younger and newer children, or they would have a small get together. Most of them had not left Scotland, so it wasn't difficult.

Tossing his bag on the sofa of their two bedroom apartment, he entered the kitchen, rolling his eyes as he saw Jacob and Emma bring their squabbling to the living room, before circling Imogen's waist with his arms, burying his nose in her locks as she stirred something which smelt divine. "Mmm, delicious."

"Which one?" she retorted, grinning. Even at twenty-eight, Imogen was still as cheeky as the day he first met her. "Both." he returned with his own Cheshire-cat grin, pressing a kiss upon his wife's cheek and rubbing her mildly rounded stomach. "How's the young one?"

"Settled. Will you be around to bring me to the hospital tomorrow? It's supposed to be next week, but it clashed with my exhibition date, so I brought forward my appointment with Doctor Gwyllis."

"My class starts after lunch, so yes you lucky lady, I will." With a last kiss on her cheek, he wandered back, admiring the roses he knew his wife got from Hugh and Fiona's hothouse off the coast of Skye as he made his way to their room.

Taking off the necklace around his neck, it was a familiar sight as he shimmered out of view the moment the vial of red liquid lost contact with his skin. They had found out a few years ago that so long as a part of Imogen stayed in contact with Millard, he would remain visible. Blood was essentially her life force, and it was the only thing that would keep him visible without direct contact. As such, his identity as a peculiar was hidden so long as he wore the vial around his neck.

A shower and a change of clothes later, Millard wandered out of their room again, just in time to see Jacob letting in the familiar sight of two boys younger than they were, one looking like he hadn't slept in days, and the other half-dragging him along. "Enoch is lacking sleep again, isn't he?" Imogen asked with a raised brow. Horace nodded, depositing his partner in a couch before he placed his own bag of books down.

"It's his third year, and he needs a good grade if he is to get a good place for his housemanship next year."

"In other words, he's barely been sleeping." Emma slotted in, shaking her head ruefully. "I'll never understand why you want to take up medical practice. At least Horace had the right mind to enroll in Astrobiology, something more… manageable."

"Oh, do leave him alone guys. I think Enoch would be wonderful as a doctor. If he was already qualified, I'd want him to be my gynae instead!"

Imogen's rather joking statement drew a horrified look from Enoch, and laughter from everyone else at his face. They all knew he planned to specialize as a surgeon, but that didn't stop them from teasing the all too serious, self-blaming Enoch. He had grown tremendously since he and Enoch both enrolled in the University of Aberdeen, but he was useless without Horace by his side.

Utensils were passed out, the fire stoked to keep the winter chill out before they all settled down to Imogen's spread of roasts, salads, spuds and soup. "Why didn't Hugh and Fiona come?" Millard asked privately, as he leaned over to pile Imogen's plate with food. Ever since they had found out about Imogen's state a month ago, he had been constantly fretting over her small frame being healthy enough to carry a baby.

"Fiona's too close to her birthing time to travel, and Hugh didn't want to risk it. It's why they sent the flowers, actually."

"Ah. Miss Peregrine isn't going over to help them?"

"I think she's trying to settle a new kid. I heard his name was… Gregory or something. Olive and Bronwyn are going over to help Fiona instead." Imogen answered nonchalantly. As if of one accord, the pair looked across at Jacob and Emma bantering good-naturedly, of Horace slicing up a half-dazed looking Enoch's meat, and a warm feeling engulfed Millard's heart.

If you had asked him ten years ago if this life of normalcy was possible, he would've laughed at you. How could you expect a boy who was invisible to live what you could call a normal life? Yet Imogen's appearance in their life had changed everything. Of the peculiar's in Miss Peregrine's home, Millard had always been the most daring, especially because of his peculiarity. He had been the first to state he wanted to leave, and everyone had followed after. Now many of their friends were around Scotland, yet they never ventured far, still finding comfort in each other.

But the very fact that they could now live no longer in fear of their lives, nor without aim, was something Millard couldn't imagine he could've achieved just ten years ago. Right now, he wouldn't exchange it for anything more.


End file.
